


March Away

by Coldhandoes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adorable Grogu | Baby Yoda, Armor Kink, Army, Baby Grogu ain't going nowhere, Blacksmithing, Canon-Typical Violence, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din being a shit about being healed, Din doesn't like nicknames but he gets one anyways, Din gets more than just the baby on his first mission, Din talks dirty eventually, Drama, Drama & Romance, Episode linear, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Fluff, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force-Sensitive Original Character(s), Grogu | Baby Yoda Being a Little Shit, Insert, Jealous Din Djarin, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Mandalorian Clans (Star Wars), Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mandalorian Jedi (Star Wars), Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Medical Conditions, Medical Examination, Mostly Canon Compliant, Mutual Pining, Name Changes, Nicknames, Non-Consensual Touching, OC is from Earth, OC knows of Star Wars but wasn't a fan, OC was a Combat Medic, POV Din Djarin, POV Original Female Character, Patch me up Doc, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Grogu | Baby Yoda, Reader-Insert, Redemption, Resol'nare (Star Wars), Separations, Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Soldiers, Soul-Searching, Starting Over, The Force, The Force Ships It (Star Wars), The Helmet Stays On, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Touching, Triggers, Unethical Experimentation, What's the prognosis?, Wishes she was a fan now, appearance change, very jealous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 205,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldhandoes/pseuds/Coldhandoes
Summary: Staff Sergeant Emma Mars was discharged from the US Army after 10 years of service due to her PTSD. She was trying to find her way on Earth when she's abducted by the Empire and transported back to their galaxy for experimentation. But the Force works in mysterious ways and even though she lacks most relevant knowledge in Star Wars, she knows OF Star Wars and tries to rationalize her abduction. Stuck in a strange galaxy, with a tiny green baby, she encounters the Mandalorian who doesn't have the heart to leave them in the hands of the Empire. Unfortunately for him, he doesn't know what he's taken on between the two, highly Force-Sensitive bounties he allows back on his ship. But those eyes - one set brown and one set violet - he couldn't leave them in good conscience.Earth OC who has some knowledge of Star WarsPretty episode linearSlow burn, but there's definitely gonna be some yummy stuff and touching along the wayEventual Paz Vizsla relationship
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Paz Vizsla/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 209
Kudos: 203





	1. Chapter 1

_"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter."_

* * *

There were few things worth looking forward to in her life. After leaving the military, she'd lost pretty much all sense of direction. The regiment she once had, the control, the structure was hard to maintain when it wasn't part of your job and you had a squad keeping you on point. Strange. 10 years passed in the US Army and yet she'd barely started her life, even at 27 years old. Distractions were always best. Books, movies, comics... So that's where she was, getting ready for PAX East in Boston, layering on the white lace front wig of Daenerys Targaryen as she stared in the mirror, blinking as she stared at the vibrant, violet contacts. 

Emma wasn't the perfect Emilia Clarke to be honest. She was more girlish, a narrower nose, a sweeter face. The regality that Emilia Clarke had was slightly lost along with the soft brushed rose hue of her small, pouting lips. Either way, she was pretty enough and that meant she could pull off Daenerys with her slender, petite form and fair skin. Throw on the wig and contacts, call it a day, enjoy the con. 

A knock startled her, half wondering if maybe her Army friends would be on the other side of the door. She wanted them there. So desperately to be amongst their ranks again as Staff Sergeant Mars. But they'd medically discharged her after what happened in Afghanistan, she hadn't been the same, not after- Shoving the thoughts down, she plastered a smile on her face, trailing over to open the door. She hadn't put the outfit on yet, just made up her face before the dress was to go on. 

Expecting room service, she let her guard down, opening the door without peeking out. That was her first mistake. Second was not having her handgun within grasping distance. If the Army did anything, it would remind you that nowhere was safe and you always needed an exit plan. But this was PAX East, nothing bad would happen within the confines of the glitzy hotel where dozens of other attendees were hanging out. 

The smile slid off her face like icing on a hot cake. 

A stormtrooper. Alright. Never had been quite her style, she'd always enjoyed medieval fantasy, but maybe they were lost. "I'm sorry, can I help you?" Emma asked kindly, sort of impressed by the amount of detail and work that had gone into the armor. In fact, it looked straight out of the films or shows. Shiny, white plastoid, the buckles were finely detailed and it looked thick and heavy. Odd. Well, not really. There were some really big Star Wars nerds here. 

He had one of those Star Wars blaster rifle things in his arms, shouldering it slightly as he motioned to her. She knew that motion, it was a typical military maneuver, a signal. "You're coming with us," his voice did not rebuff off the helmet as she expected. Instead, it translated through a microphone, the same that many sergeants wore in their gas masks so that others could audibly hear their voice unimpeded and muffled. But the clarity was different, cool, and a little gritty as if the speaker had a bit of static and needed tightening.

Smiling slightly, Emma kept in good spirits. Perhaps there was a game in the hotel that she hadn't been aware of. "Oh am I?" she inquired lightly. "Well at least let me grab my coat. Where are we headed?" Turning away to entertain the idea, she tried to recall if she'd read anything on the flyer about a Star Wars trivia or roleplaying game. No, she didn't think so, but if she made new friends... This might be a really good place to take her mind off of things even if she didn't know Star Wars all too well. She'd seen the movies a long time ago with her dad, but had never rewatched them since like... the 3rd prequel had come out.

A gloved hand snatched out, grabbing her bicep, tightening painfully. Now that was odd. Craning her head back, she looked at the stormtrooper carefully. "Excuse me?" her voice was hard, the stern tin of her time as a sergeant returning - the clear power humming in the back of her throat as the light kindness vanished completely. 

"You're coming with us," the trooper repeated.

"You will remove your hand right now," Emma told him. "And I'll not press charges."

But he did not. Instead, he jerked her out of the room, bigger and more imposing, leading her away from the bag where her gun was. Licking her lips, Emma considered her options. A soldier she might've been, but not that kind of soldier. She had been a combat medic and while she saw terrible things, most often she was amongst the back line waiting to tend the wounded. Had she killed before? Yes. But she wasn't some secret agent or amazing warrior. If she had a gun, she knew how to shoot, that was about it. Her talent laid in how her hands mended, not how she could fight off a man with more than 100lbs on her.

Where was everyone?

The hotel hallways were empty, the lights against the walls flickering and seeming dull and medicinal against the pallid paper. Before, she'd heard the bustling, the din of people excitedly preparing for the con, and then... her eyes went back over to the rifle. She'd help make foam con weapons before, but this rifle... just as she knew her own M4, she knew that this was metal and it was real. Eyes raking the safety lever, she knew little else about it other than the fact that it had a trigger. There was no charging handle, no where to indicate where bullets might be fed. But the erring sensation in the back of her mind told her that there wouldn't be. That in Star Wars, guns shot lasers, not bullets.

But they were from a galaxy far, far, away and a long time ago. Nothing could possible be... real? 

Down in the lobby, the room was scarce one again, but Emma's nose picked up a rather distinct smell. It wasn't gunpowder, but it smelled of smoke and of death. Not sweet and sickly like a body left to decompose, but like a fire that had charred human flesh. These scents, while unpleasant, were all things she'd experienced before. Her nerves twinged, a deep unsettling feeling welling like a stone in the pit of her stomach. Someone was coming. Someone bad.

A man strode out gilded in black plastic armor, embezzled with buttons and a fine obsidian cloak gliding down from his shoulders. Moving with serpentine grace, his dark countenance soaked in Emma and how polar they looked across from one another. Her, white haired and fair and him, cutting, mysterious, and dark. Setting his jaw, he unfurled a tight lipped smile. 

"We have come quite a long way from home, looking for particular worm holes that would allow interstellar jumps between two far apart galaxies," he announced, his voice rather astonishing. Why? Because Emma heard the perfect diction and clarity of a prestigious officer, well spoken, each word demanding to be hung onto as he spoke. In fact, her feet shifted naturally, almost snapping to attention as she listened to him. This was a powerful man. This was the bad man. "Because... We need you."

Emma just stared, wondering if this were all some elaborate ruse and that she really had been thrust into a roleplay scenario. But the smells. They were too real, even if she couldn't see the bodies, she knew they might be hiding behind the counter of the check-in desk. His hands folded behind his back, she cleared her throat and made an attempt to sound as dignified as possible. "Who are you?"

"I am Moff Gideon," he said delicately, inclining his head toward her, nodding sternly. "And you are the catalyst. It wells around you. And I need it." Moff was a title. She knew that much. And Gideon must've been his surname. 

"Need what, sir?" Despite her situation, she still had that awful manner in which she spoke to those above her station. She was being held hostage and yet she'd recognized he was an officer and called him sir.

"Why your blood of course."

Emma didn't get to ask any more questions. She was ushered out of the lobby and out into the city. A convoy of stormtroopers was waiting around a ship... a drop ship? And the city was on edge, absolutely petrified as several cop cars and SWAT vans framed the courtyard leading up to the hotel, lights blazing and flickering as the police line faltered. Confusion. Just as much confusion as she felt. But it was what was above the city that cast a deafening shadow; a triangular shaped ship, so massive that it made Boston look puny beneath it. That was her destiny. That was where she was going.

Guided toward the drop ship, which reminded her slightly of a helicopter or a Black Hawk, she was shoved into a seat, manacles snapped over her wrists. Her skin shocked violently in pain, having never seen any cuffs like this in her life. Humming between the link was blue electricity and it ailed her, numbing her flesh around her hands and making her senses dull. Mind jumbling, she slumped in her seat, all semblance of control she had slipping away as she heard duly - "We shall begin our departure. Thank you residents of Boston, Earth. The Galactic Empire is gracious of your cooperation."

When the ship took into the air, there was no chopping of blades, just a loud thrum as it thrusted them into the sky and began panning them away from the hotel and to the enormous spaceship. Who would have thought that being abducted by aliens wouldn't actually be aliens, but humans from... somewhere else. Emma was certain she had to be dreaming, her mind coasting over in a glaze, her head... her head hurt so badly. Reaching, she tried to tug off the wig. It didn't come off.

Once they landed on the ship, Emma was pushed back to her feet, stumbling slightly and absurdly cold. Were there no heaters inside a ship? Wasn't space cold? Then again, they were all much better dressed than she was. Between the shine of the white plastoid, to the thick wool uniforms that passing officers wore, Emma was in a simple t-shirt and leggings. Shuddering, her eyes swept along the metal walls, the cold lights that were built into the walls, the lack of windows, the vents pushing out breathable air.

Too real. It was too real.

Another door opened and Emma was shoved in. Nearly tripping over her own feet, she fell in front of a tanned man with short cropped dark brown hair. He had a closely kept beard and a set of circular glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose. His uniform was different from the others she had passed. It was taupe, the shoulders an off-white, accented by black ribbons against the edges of the shoulder pads. The cool glare of the white room, the materials, the machines - of course she didn't know what exactly each one did, but she knew this was a lab.

"Don't be so rough with her," the man told the stormtrooper that had dumped her so unceremoniously. His kindness seemed earnest as he stepped forward, offering Emma a hand to her feet. 

Hesitating, she accepted the hand, the first bit of warmth she had experienced aside from the cool kiss of the gloves of the troopers. Her eyes were still sliding around the room, trying to drink in the details, trying to find an escape. What escape? They were going to go wherever this ship came from, far away from Earth. 

"You must be overwhelmed," the man realized.

"A bit of an understatement," Emma chuckled hoarsely, clinging to the wry sense of humor that had seen her through a lot of bad times. He led her to a bend, seating her down. Even if she was at his mercy, at least he was being nice to her. From what Moff Gideon had said, she presumed that this would be her new home until they'd drained her of the blood they wanted.

"I am Doctor Pershing," he picked up a board, which reminded her duly of an ipad, but it was clunkier, thicker, and not as sleek as Earth technology. For intergalactic travelers, they didn't have the latest tech. "Let us begin. I shall try and answer some of your questions to my best ability and within limits, but..." he paused, considering Emma. "You must understand your situation here."

"I'm a POW basically."

"POW?"

"Prisoner of war?"

"Ah," Doctor Pershing gave a nod. "There's no war right now, but I suppose that is a good description. What is your name?"

"Emma Mars."

"Age?"

"27."

"Height?"

"5'1" or 61 inches."

"Weight?"

"105lbs." Did they use the Imperial system? That was a silly question. Basically, only America did, how would he know what that was? But Doctor Pershing did not ask for clarification. Emma trailed her hands against her legs as he inputted the data. "Why does Moff Gideon want my blood?"

Pershing glanced up, his glasses sliding down slightly. "You're special. So special that we were able to locate you across galaxies. With blood like yours, we could help a lot of people."

Help people. That didn't sound too bad. But then why did everything feel so cold and forced? Clearly, they were just going to take it from her even if she wasn't willing. "But what's special about it? Do I have certain antibodies that can curse disease?"

"Do you have medical knowledge?"

"Yes, somewhat, I was a medic in the army."

"Yes, you have a very special thing in your blood called midi-chlorians. A lot of them. Your people, here on Earth, don't know how to use them. It's a waste really. But back in our galaxy, we can use them," Pershing was being elusive still, but he had told her he would say what he could. Despite his politeness, she still wasn't free to do as she pleased. "Violet eyes. White hair-" he muttered, continuing to go down the chart.

"Oh, this isn't my real hair. I'm wearing contacts too," Emma told him, reaching up to try and snag it a second time. She really had put a lot of hairspray and gel in to make the hairline look as realistic as possible. 

"Are you... certain? I expect today was rather stressful and overwhelming for a human who's never seen anything like this."

"Yes, I'm certain," but when she reached up, finally managing to finagle her way into the braided tresses, she realized in horror that pulling hurt. "Uhm." She tried again, gritting her teeth as pain lanced against her scalp. Just like on the drop ship, it wasn't coming off and she couldn't feel the contacts in her eyes. Emma had been trained to not freak out in stressful situations, but as the ship left orbit, she was beginning to realize the severity of it all.

She had just been abducted by alien humans and was going to be used for experiments because of her blood. Her muscles trembled and her hands fell from the ivory tresses. _Be a strong soldier, be strong._ But how? Emma was confused and her fear was rising in the form of bile on the back of her tongue. "I'm... I'm gonna be sick." And she was. All over the white floor, she vomited up her breakfast which had just been coffee.

"Perhaps it is best that you decompress before we go any further," the doctor suggested gently, pressing a button that opened the doors with a hydraulic hiss. "Please escort her to the proper cell with the other patient."

Hauled back to her feet, her shoulders quivered weakly, bowing her head as she tried not to cry. Soldiers didn't cry. 

The cell wasn't too far from the lab and required a special key to open. Not a normal key, it looked almost like a screwdriver with a nub tip instead of a head, spinning and turning against a divot in the steel before the door hissed open. There was a small form laying on the floor, thick burlap robes wrapped around it. This was the first alien, alien that she had seen, the curve of large green ears, a peach fuzz of white hair.

Falling to her knees, her skin ached where she had landed, palms skin to metal and quivering as she turned them up to gaze at them. But her eyes went back to the tiny form nearby, wondering if it was alive. So small. 

"Hello?" she ushered gently, crawling toward them, observing the slight rise and fall of their side. At least they were alive. "Are you alright?" she continued, daring to put a hand on the kindred spirit that was trapped just lighting her. Turning the form over, she realized by the tiny face that this was a baby. Blinking, enormous brown eyes gazed up to her and even through the numbness of the cuffs, she could feel an instant connection - the synapses in her brain registering the oneness they both comprehended in an instant. 

The baby gurgled.

"Oh, what have they done to you?" she whispered, scooping her cuffed hands underneath him and bringing him naturally to her chest. Emma should have been more startled that he was an alien, that he was green, or that he had three fingers. But she wasn't. Why? Even if she didn't recall the movies that well, she knew that this baby was the same race as a Jedi called Yoda. He'd played a very pivotal part in quite a few of the movies and her dad used to have a puppet of Yoda. "Maybe we'll both wake up from this bad dream. Want to hear a song? It'll make both of us feel better-" clearing her throat, she began humming to the tune of the Army Song, the chipper march the only noise in that frigid cell, but at least she wasn't alone.

* * *

 **A.N.** Hi everyone! I've been lurking for a while and thought it'd be interesting to throw in an earthie as an OC who is sort of just soul searching and hasn't got much going for her in life. Her inspiration for appearance is totally taken from a Daenerys Targaryen cosplay that I fell in love with, so I'm not even gonna lie and just leave this here for ya - [Emma's faceclaim](https://images-cdn.9gag.com/photo/a4Q1vNZ_700b.jpg)

I hope you all enjoyed and please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

_ "Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today." _

* * *

Only Doctor Pershing was kind to the both of them. Everyone else saw them as less than sentient, as if they were animals to be caged, and that they couldn't think or rationalize. Just bodies to be sucked from - to be utilized to further their research and purposes. Between the bloodletting and the other experiments that they ran, Emma was becoming increasingly weak. At least her sacrifice meant that the baby wasn't getting as much blood drawn, but she always felt clammy, pallid, and cold. At least a pint a day - or what she assumed was a day. You could never tell how many hours had passed, there were no windows and no sun to indicate the cycle of the day.

But the best part of any of this was that she wasn't alone. Had she been alone, her mental state would have frayed more and she would have resigned herself to the cold existence that had become her life. Pershing kept her with the tiny green child, since they were both being used for the same thing. And so, she managed to hum and sing to him, in her trembling weak voice, once they returned to the cell. The connection between them was there, though faint due to the bracelets they were forced to wear. Thrumming like the blood through her veins, Emma knew that whatever the two of them had that made them so valuable also unified them in an ethereal, unseeable manner.

However long had gone by, maybe weeks, she began hearing voices in her ears. Assuming that she was going crazy from her institutionalization, Emma could do nothing but give in to the pandering after so long. It was nice to hear an unfamiliar voice that didn't belong to Pershing or the modulated stormtroopers, she sank into the comfort of those hushed words, lilting on the wind and only for her. 

_ "The Force works in mysterious ways, young padawan. And while your training will not be the most traditional - your training awaits." _

In her dreams, she saw a figure in a long, dark brown set of robes. Recalling her life on Earth, she thought that this person rather looked like a Jedi. The Force was their magic - the well of power that they drew upon to be able to do things like telekinesis. Other than that, Emma was not familiar with their ways and had never shown any promise of such powers on Earth. She had always been empathetic. So brutally aware of emotions around her that being in war had been painful to the point where she'd begun to crack. But to her, these emotions just meant that she was an endearing, passionate, and caring person. Never had she considered that it might've been a magical intuition.

_ "You are already so intune with your surroundings. So open and perceptive. But perception is only half of the battle." _

Wishing to hear more, she could only slip into her evenings with the baby cuddled against her, his tiny warmth the one thing she could cling to. They were each other's tether and reality, the reason why neither of them had truly requited their will to live. Space was cold, unfriendly, and unfair. The movies had been family friendly, but what happened on this ship was not. If not for Pershing, Emma expected that their time as experiments could have been much worse. He vouched for them, scolded soldiers when they were too rough, even went as far to tell Moff Gideon that no more blood could be extracted without killing one of them. For a scientist who had no qualms about unethical experiments, he was the only one on their side.

They weren't in Kansas anymore. By the snippets of conversation she gleaned, they had made it back to the Galactic Empire's galaxy - far, far away she presumed. Jokes were lobbied toward the Milky Way and how inferior the humans of Earth were. They didn't have interstellar travel figured out yet. Funny how Emma noticed how several things around her could have been hastened or made more convenient by several Earthen technologies like cell phones and high tech machines. She also recognized the social structure, the ship almost like a military base, the quiet jokes between troopers who seemed to forget that she was listening on. To them, she was just a blood bag without a brain, which was astonishing. She was human. She was a person. How were they creating so much distance between what she was and what they were?

Soldiers did it back in the Middle East. It was easier to view the natives as lesser, inferior creatures, especially when they could very rarely speak the same language as you. It was easy to think them as stupid and not worthy of living. It was easy to forget how to be human. 

Eventually, they were transported to another, much smaller ship. This should have been easy, flawless, and without issue. Doctor Pershing was not too far along ahead and glanced back as Emma, who was holding the child, slowly canted forward, her limbs weak. Shuttling between the two ships, she wondered if this new home would be worse, better, or the same. But she didn't get to find out.

Alarms blared, her head rising and glancing around - lethargy pressing her senses as she realized that this wasn't according to plan. Coms buzzed against the stormtroopers' armor, a hurried but plain, "We've been intercepted by pirates. Standby."

"Get inside, quickly," Doctor Pershing reached out toward his patients, offering a hand on the other side of the threshold that led to his ship. The shuttle ship was behind her, the troopers distracted as they drew their weapons. The Force hummed in her ears and the baby shifted, keenly aware that this was it - the opportunity. Pershing gave another desperate look in her hesitation. "Emma!"

It had been a while since her name had been spoken out loud, but she didn't like it. Take away her name and she became less than a person. Now, he was using it like a weapon, trying to fish her as his own fear made him shrink toward his ship. She spun on her heel, beginning toward the sound of the blasterfire, the arid smell so different from bullets and yet so vaguely familiar. 

"The patients have run. Do not injure them!  _ Please  _ do not injure them!" Doctor Pershing was shouting behind her as adrenaline surged through her like a tidal wave. 

Glancing back at his panic stricken face, her lips cracked and she spoke for the first time in a while. "What do we say to the Lord of Death?" she whispered to the baby, pinning herself on the side of a wall as the Force thrummed, warning her of incoming fire. "Not today." Ducking back out, the scene flashed in front of her eyes, not the spaceship that she was running through, but a battlefield in a broken urban landscape. MED-EVACs were being called on the radios, desperation pressing the throats of the medics who were nearly screaming it in over the explosions of IEDs.

Emma was running. No, Staff Sergeant Mars was, her boots smacking against the rubbled street, scattering the pavement in a puff of dust. Her chestplate hit the ground hard as she tripped over a piece of metal, but it had saved her life as AK rounds whistled above her head. Shimmying forward, she pressed the strap of her M4 over her gloves, low crawling to the next throng of sandbags, seeing the limp form of Specialist Jones. 

"Talk to me Jones. Jones, talk to me!" she screamed, grabbing the back of his kevlar, turning him over to observe where the fragments of metal had met the dark skin of his throat, cutting through the tan bandana, blood dripping down in fat liquid rubies, staining the pale green and tan uniform. He choked, trying to answer his platoon sergeant, but only crimson bubbles blistered against his desert dry, chapped lips. "It's alright, Jones. I've got you. The MED-EVAC is coming, it's coming for us right now. I'm gonna bring you home. Gonna bring you right home to your sister and your nephew. What was it, she named the boy? I think you said Gabriel, right?"

He nodded, her fingers pressing into his wound, trying to staunch the flow as she dropped her pack and huddled behind the barricade with her equipment. "What's the prognosis, doc?" he finally found words just as she was pulling out bundles of gauze.

"You'll live-" but those words were just comforting lies. Jones would not live. He'd lost too much blood before Mars had made it to him, strands of her hair falling in her face that had come loose from her bun, pinned underneath her thick helmet. "Hey, keep talking to me Jones. That's an order. That's an order from your sergeant." She'd jumped past the infantry, over the safety near the humvees to run to Jones. She's disobeyed a direct order to make sure he was still alive. And she sure as hell wasn't going to leave him in his final moments. He didn't need to die looking at the side of a sandbag. He needed to die looking into the face of a friend.

"Book her."

Emma snapped back, the warzone fading and replaced with strange alien faces as she stumbled around a corner and into a throng of mercenaries. They were reptilian, in various colors, and had leathery skin. Humanoid in both shape and height, the most common shared feature were the coal black, obsidian eyes. Some of the ridges on their faces had horns and spikes, varying from person to person, but there was also a general lack of expression. She knew it had to do with the thickness of their skin, not as many muscles in their taut, scaly faces as there was in the soft, fleshy curve of a human's.

Whatever they were, they were taking her and the baby. Friends? Perhaps not, but they weren't the Empire. She did not resist, sensing few emotions other than their desire to loot as much as possible. To them, she and the child were just additions to their spoils and would be brought back to their home base. Bindings were kept on and whilst they were shoved unceremoniously onto a ship, they did acknowledge that Emma could hear and perhaps speak.

"What is that?" one gesticulated to the child she held in her arms, the baby's fingers curling against the thin material of her shirt, quivering as he hid his face. "Obviously, it's not yours."

Wasn't her child. Right. She was human and this baby was Yoda's species. "A baby."

"Hmph."

Their bindings were left on and they were stowed below deck before the pirates abandoned the Imperial ships and made way for their own destination. The same stranger that had asked her about the child returned with a blanket. "Here."

Emma had been cold, as she usually was, but was slightly taken aback by the reptilian's act of kindness. "Thank you," she muttered, wrapping it around her shoulders where she sat, nestling the child in her lap as she swaddled them in warmth. "Where are we going?"

"Arvala-7."

"Why did you take us?"

"We took everything we could. Seems you were important. Probably worth good money."

Ah, well, it had gotten them off the ship, so there was no reason being upset over it. Emma nodded slowly, her white waves scattering in her face as she did so. God, she needed a good bath. There was no explanation for how her hair and eyes had changed color, but she'd just accepted it along with all the adverse challenges she had faced. "Can... can you take these off?" she showed him her wrists, her hands still numb

"Maybe. I'll need to check with the captain." They thought her harmless. Well, she sort of was. Her bones were weary, her body only being given enough to survive rather than prosper. Unbinding a tiny woman and the child? They posed no danger, so leaving them to huddle for warmth would not be affected by whether they wore cuffs. The creature, which she thought was a male by the din of his voice, disappeared for a few more minutes.

Eventually, he returned with some food and water. "I will take them off," he agreed. "Why were you on an Imperial ship?"

Baring her hands, she let him begin working the lock, eager to not have the pressing sensation of her wrists stuck together. "I don't know. They were using us for experiments. Drawing our blood." None of that was a lie. Of course, she knew that it was for the midi-chlorians and their connection to the Force that the Empire had wanted them, she had garnered enough from Pershing's words and just listening. But... that didn't need to be shared.

He nodded slowly, but his face betrayed little as the lock finally clicked and he pulled the cuffs off. "You are our slave now, until we decide what to do with you. Eat. We will arrive on the planet within a few days."

Slave. What a trade up. Rubbing her wrists, she savored the freedom of movement and felt strong breath bolster her frame. This breath was warm, chasing away the edges of cold, lining her muscles with strength, and opening her eyes. Freedom. Perhaps not from being trapped, but her body was more powerful, her connection to the Force reignited as the cuffs were removed. Emma hadn't even realized what she had been missing until she was connected to it once again. With the cuffs, it had been a trembling flame on a guttering candle, now... now it was a bonfire piled high and not buffeted by even the strongest, storm winds.

The cuffs from the baby were removed as well, he rolled over gently and opened his eyes to stare up widely. Just as they originally had, the connection snapped between them and Emma's breath was stolen from her chest. Eye to eye, falling within the invisible embrace of each other's signature, she barely noticed that he had sat up and reached for her face. 

_ 'We are one.' _

The baby nodded, the thoughts trailing between them, and he understood.  _ 'Grogu.' _

"Grogu," she whispered audibly, hearing a delighted giggle, tracing her finger along his soft ear, before smiling. "We will survive this little one. Together we will. I promise you that. Deep in my soul, I know it to be true."

He nodded again, hugging her, wrapping tiny arms around her collar and sinking into her hair - the same color as his. The Force reassured them, echoing quietly between them, an unspoken line of communication that spoke in not only words, but images and feelings too. Grogu placated, tugging at her tethers, wishing to know more just as he showed her. Death. So young and yet he'd witnessed so much death. But Emma knew, because she had also experienced death. 

Sharing the food with him, she nodded into his head. "That is one thing that is commonplace in our history, isn't it? We're both afraid of the same thing." To lose someone. Her stomach roiled, a shadow casting above her - not physically, but the weight lined her shoulders and pushed hard. Her vision swam at the edges, her sharp intake of breath causing Grogu to blabber incoherently. 

_ "Come back-" _ the same mysterious voice she'd heard in her dreams pulled her away from the darkness.

Grogu gurgled again and returned to the food. Danger. Not erring close to them, but what she had just experienced. Those feelings were dangerous. The Dark side had just called to her, egging on those negative emotions and fears. She put down her portion of food, resigning back against the pillar that they sat beneath, and let Grogu polish off the rest of the food. The darkness was cloaking them, hiding amongst their shadows, and nipping on the ever returning fear that clung to their being. Both she and Grogu were afraid. But they had each other and they needed to remember to cling to that solace.

Arvala-7 was dry and unlike Earth. Nothing was much like Earth, now that Emma considered it. The structures, the technology, the people... At least they spoke English for the most part or Galactic basic as they referred to it as. Out through the windows she could see the barren, desolate, rocky surface. The outpost was framed by craggy mountains that jutted up like shark teeth to protect the alcove. Getting in and out of this area seemed quite impossible and Emma knew that if she and Grogu tried to make a run for it, that they'd never make it past the unforgiving landscape.

Emma had spent enough time in the Middle East that she knew they didn't have enough resources or information to try and make a mad dash. So, she did as she was bid and the people - Niktos as she came to learn, were callous, but cordial. After all, eventually they'd want to sell her and the baby, so keeping her in one piece and getting her a little healthier was in their best interest. 

But then they started coming. Blasterfire was becoming a familiar sound and smell around the compound as people came for them. If the mercenaries were smart, they'd just hand them over, but with each new wave of attempts, the Niktos were beginning to realize that the pair of them were a real prize. Given the strategic position of their hideout, it was impossible for anyone to attack without being spotted. The Niktos were biding their time.

Another fire fight had broken out, Emma and the baby were desensitized by this point, sitting in the storage room that had become for their home. Rocking the pram - a carriage that had been scavenged by the mercenaries and handed over to them - she glanced down at Grogu who was undisturbed by the noise. 

"It'll all be over soon enough, again," she assured him, smoothing the coarse fabric of the tunic and skirt she had been given in exchange for her old Earth clothing. Very... uhm, rough and dated, but the timeline of this galaxy seemed very out of order when compared to Earth's growth. With each night, the voice had returned with power and strength, guiding her through meditations and instructions on how to hone herself. Emma hoped that maybe if she got strong enough that she'd be able to free them, but did not cling to desperate hopes. She needed to be a realist and take action based on what she knew, not what she dreamed of.

Standing up, she paused. "Hm, this is going on a lot longer than usual." Snow white tendrils cascaded over her shoulder, head tilting as she felt lifeforces guttering out around them. Odd. Usually a few, but not this many, not- the Niktos were dying. The realization made her take an abrupt step backward, stumbling over a few pieces of junk, before she toppled over and into a pile of the mess. What if it was the Empire? What if they were going to be thrown back into the lab?

Emma scrambled, closing the pram and nudging it into a corner before she found some crates to hide behind. Whoever it was, maybe she could... she could stop them. If she really had Force powers, couldn't she choke them? Her eyes slid back across the room from her hovel, the door blowing open with a loud and deafening roar. She closed her lids, flinching slightly as the noise reminded her of an IED explosion. Mouth trembling, she managed to catch a sliver of movement from behind the tarp she was under.

Two figures. Only one had lifeforce. The other was a robot.

A humanoid figure approached, finding the pram where she had left it, some sort of fob pinging in his hand. Emma hadn't considered that there would be the technology to track them individually. Chewing on her cheek, she listened carefully. "This is the first life form. 50 years old?" His voice was modulated like the stormtroopers, but there was much more clarity to the microphone. In exchange for that clarity, was a deep, baritone that sent shivers down her spine, tracing fire from her neck to her toes. Cold. His voice was so cold.

"It appears to be of a species that ages differently. Where is the other lifeform? My fob indicates that the other is still in here," the robot reported. "My instructions were to terminate the assets."

"No, we should bring this child back alive," the modulated voice disagreed, which took her aback.

The robot raised his arm, the flash of a blaster catching her breath and senses. Emma darted out from underneath her hiding spot, throwing her hand up. "You shall not touch him!" Her hand flew out, the fear overwhelming her all at once, the likeliness she was to lose the one thing in her life that kept her sane. But before she had the chance to crush his chassis, to steal the false life from the droid before he could do the same to the baby, the cloaked figure before her turned his blaster and shot it.

Emma's hand dropped and she took a trembling step backward, almost falling again as the silhouette rounded to look at her. He wore armor like stormtroopers, but also... not like stormtroopers. The helmet glinted dimly in the poor light of the storage room, refracting the taupe and browns of the walls, a black visor reflecting her small form. The other pieces of armor were not as shiny. Instead, they were crimson, the paint scratched away and dented in various areas, singing of the amount of use and fights it had endured. Nothing was revealed, nothing at all aside from the modulated voice that indicated that something living was underneath that helmet.

He towered over her, a second fob pinging in his gloved hand. 

Her fob. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a fun fact, Emma has a Bostonian accent. She's from Massachusetts. Not necessarily the city, but she does have the rounded, Northern tone to her voice. Most of the time it comes out when she's flustered, she tends to curb it when talking normally, but it's still there. Din may notice it later ;)
> 
> If you couldn't tell already, this story is meant to be very detailed and immersive. I know that may not vibe with a lot of people, but I really wanted to paint pictures with the imagery and descriptions.
> 
> EDIT: Edited 1/16/21 to modify Din's lack of knowledge on a bullet wound from earth on suggestion of Evenmoor

_"The harder the conflict, the greater the triumph."_

* * *

Two targets. A high paying bounty. One child and one woman.

She stood in front of him now, tumbles of ivory waves cascading around her and to her waist, a hand outstretched as he hovered over the pram that held the baby. But she did not look like the baby aside from the hue of her hair. She was human. Small, petite, tiny, dirty. Even so, Din Djarin's heartstrings pulled just as they had when he'd seen the baby. The soft, innocent face of the young woman who reached out toward the child, her brilliant amethyst eyes leveling up toward him in a defiant manner, but she was also afraid. He'd be more droid than mortal if he didn't admit that the young lady was striking.

"Please. Don't hurt him," the commanding voice he'd just heard as she ran out was gone, replaced with a tinny tone, as if realizing her situation now. She had no weapons, nothing aside from the roughspun skirt and shirt that she wore. This was the target that had been aged at 27. He had difficulty believing that, but did not speak. "You're here for us." A statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"To take us back to the Empire." The baby could not speak, but the woman could. 

"To the Client," he agreed, which he was well aware of, was in fact Imperial remnants. What was this girl? Perhaps a pleasure slave? No, she had a brazenness that was not common amongst slaves and a punctuated manner of speaking - she seemed educated. But no questions were to be asked, per the bounty hunting code. "Come." He didn't have to threaten her. She was small and weak, he was armed to the teeth and wearing armor.

She trailed by him, glancing into the pram to make certain that the baby was unharmed. Sighing gently, she resigned, giving an understanding nod. A slight sag pressed her peach shoulders, exposed to the elements, smooth and untouched save for a single mark through her right shoulder. Looked like an old wound, a scar, but he'd never seen anything like it before. Couldn't be a blaster mark. He caught the way that the scar puckered on the back of her shoulder - a tiny entrance wound from the front, but it had ricocheted out the back. Could be from a slug shot, but those were messier and didn't volley out like that from the back.

Outside the storage room was the carnage from battle. Even through his helmet, he could smell the charred flesh, the sharp bite of blasterfire, and the burning of various tech items. The girl paused, tilting her head and staring at the remnants of a Nikto's face. Her brows were expressive, pinching together, curving her mouth downward as she stood a silent, brief vigil. Tearing her eyes away, she didn't bother to look at him as they continued up the rise and back in the direction of Kuiil's moisture farm where the Razor Crest had been left. Typically, he would have bound his charges, even the woman. However, given he didn't have the blurrg anymore, the journey would have only been more arduous if he had to carrying her over his shoulder. Didn't seem she was too keen on being manhandled either.

Silence.

_Strange._

Usually bounties begged. Begged to be let go and to be freed, offered to pay him, offered to double it as long as they weren't returned to the Guild. And yet... His helmet tilted, glancing toward the woman who walked with lined wariness, a caution he'd noticed in other fighters. Perhaps that scar on her shoulder was from another time. The Client had provided no information on who or what he was subduing, but it was still difficult to believe that this woman was capable of much given her stature. 

She did not beg.

Lizards darted ahead on the sand as they continued across the parched landscape, the green scales catching the height of the sun as it glowered down on them.

Refracting hues of emerald and venom, the lizards skittered away, and the young woman eyed him. Not for his weapons, nor to openly rue him. A simple, clear bit of words, "We are being watched."

Din lifted his head. He'd felt it too, but the pale visage of the woman leaned toward the pram, her fingers closing protectively around the carriage that bore the child. The two were a pair. Taking her suggestion, he drew his blaster, wondering how she had sensed the impending danger. Didn't matter. They were being followed. Karga had hinted at as much - many other bounty hunters had been given the task of attempting to extract the pair. Even if he had claimed them, there would still be attempts to intersect and stop him. 

Then it happened during the pass, swooping down from the sheer dusty cliffs with vibro-axes, Trandoshans ambushed them. "Get out of the way-" he ordered, hoping that the woman had enough of her wits about her to stay out of the fight. The IG unit had been keen on killing them, it was just as likely that others would be more willing to take them in cold. Why? He didn't have time to answer that question as the pale haired female thrust the pram to the side, beneath an overhang in the cliffs, falling into the sand as she used her body to shield the baby's carriage.

Lifting his blaster, the dance began. There were five of them, circling around, considering him. Tall, bruttish, reptilian, the Trandoshans hummed as they swung their axes. Din darted backward, evading their maneuvers, leveling his blaster. Their skin was thick and they relished in the thrill of a hunt. Only a clean shot to the face would take them down unless he wished to waste his rounds. His shot was always true, bracing the blaster against his vambrace as he drew quickly and with deadly accuracy. One down, crumpling to the sand where his corpse would decay.

The first shot drawn sent them into a fervor. Pouncing toward him like loth-wolves to a hunt, he had to rely on not only his good aim, but instinct and prediction. Stepping aside, he turned the blow of a vibro-axe and finished his attacker with an execution to the back of the head. There were still three and they did not relent. Hissing, one blade kissed his left arm where his vambrace did not protect, slicing through tender flesh. It could've been worse had he not stepped back, thrusting a palm into the Trandoshan's throat, a choking gurgle in his windpipe where he jammed the brittle bone. Flicking the blaster to his fingers, he finished the job, only having a moment to pirouette and deflect the next strike. 

But he noticed the last Trandoshan had decided that he wasn't worth it. Disengaging his ally, Din watched the vibro-axe turn on the defenseless petite woman. To her credit, she leveled her chin, her violet eyes burning like stars about to burst. The child would be protected - he saw the tension lining her shoulders, the refusal to reveal the baby in the pram, the _defiance_. Darting beneath the strike of the vibro-axe he caught his breath, watching as she lifted a palm and the blade never fell. Instead, an invisible force field caught the strike, her fingers coiling, the Trandoshan - who outweighed her by twice - lifted off the ground, kicking his feet as feeble as a newborn babe. He sputtered, spittle frothing to his lips as her eyes hardened like gemstones, dark and abysmal. 

His neck snapped.

The Trandoshan's body slithered to the ground, broken and discarded. Catching her breath, the woman sagged, her thick lashes brushing her delicate cheekbones as she swayed with exhaustion. The pram snapped open and the child squealed as she caught her fingers on the edge, steadying herself before she could fall. The baby pressed clawed hands to her fingers, garbling loudly, clearly concerned over her condition.

"Grogu, I'm fine," the woman assured the baby - Grogu. 

Din Djarin still didn't comprehend what he had just witnessed. But if he truly believed what he had just seen, he would admit that he'd watched the woman, with hair like starlight, had just snapped a Trandoshan's neck with invisible will. Magic. He swiped his tongue along dried, cracked lips before approaching them, his fingers still taut on his blaster. Still aching, the wound on his arm pulsing, he ignored the searing pain as he approached them. 

"How did you know?" he demanded.

The woman's eyes fluttered, she was relying entirely on the pram for balance, sagging against the floating carriage. And yet, her irises fixated on him, the child's fingers grasping her forearm. "Intuition," she chuckled, her voice grating in the back of her throat, a tired smile twisting her soft, rosy lips. "You're hurt."

Could she snap his neck in the same manner as the Trandoshan? Originally, he had thought there was no threat from her or the baby, but now... Exhaustion lined her face, unable to stand on her own, the child crooning into the nook of her arm, brown eyes wide and desperate. Was this a ruse? Was she actually tired or was she trying to disarm him so she could snap his neck in the same manner? 

Her skin had blistered in the sun. The same peachy shoulders blossoming with bursts of red, the veins webbing beneath her fair complexion, indicating the exposure from Arvala-7's atmosphere. No. If she had wanted to harm him, she would have done it already. Just as in the compound, she had reacted when the child was being threatened. 

"I'm fine," he asserted. "We need to keep moving."

But that wouldn't be happening. She tried to find her feet, scrambling in boots too large for her, slipping in the sand and collapsing. Whatever magic she had utilized to save herself, it had driven all energy from her limbs. Setting her jaw, she trembled against the pram, clearly dismayed by her body's reaction. 

Din grumbled, but mostly because he knew that he wasn't going to have the luxury of not having to drag her along. Rather, he approached tentatively, worried that she might have more magic up her sleeve. Her eyes listed up toward his helmet, again the disarming features drawing him in to include a slight tremble in her lips, the soft tilt of her chin, and her brilliant eyes. It was easy to forget she'd broken a person's neck without touching them. 

The baby shouted at him, unrelenting and vexed, as if blaming him for the state of her. "We need to continue," he insisted again.

"Would if I could," she answered.

Would she? "I'll carry you."

Her nose crinkled, the shame of being carried by someone else's boots clearly an unwelcome prospect. There wasn't much choice. It wasn't an offer, it was a statement. He was going to drag her through the sand if he had to. Resigning to a stubborn nod, he shifted his rifle on his back and exposed his back to her. She was too lethargic to take advantage of this and that was the only reason he'd offered. Taking pity on the woman, he'd offered to carry her on his back. 

Shifting her up onto his back, Din was startled by how light she was. Again, it was still another 100lbs in addition to his armor, but her frame sagged against him, confirming his suspicions. The skirt rode her legs, exposing the fair skin of her calves and slightly above her knees. The muscles were developed, indicative of exercise, perhaps even a runner. Gloved fingers coasted her flesh, reminding him of how long it'd been since he'd actually touched a woman. Grinding his teeth, he set aside the distracting thoughts as her brow bowed against the edge of his cloak and beside where his helmet locked into place. 

Continuing until dusk, he carried the young woman, the pram listing beside them. The child was rather talkative, garbling as they moved across the desolate landscape, as if he was trying to hold a conversation with either Din or the semi-conscious woman. His arm still ached, the wound fresh and exposed. Braving the darkness of night would do them no good and Din wasn't keen on meeting wild blurrgs. Settling down, he placed the woman beside the pram and began tending to his wound on his arm.

She stirred slightly, lifting her head to glance into the pram, removing the child to cradle him close to her bosom. Even in the dim brilliance of the evening, Din noticed how entrancing her features were. Rather than keeping to herself, she took note as he peeled back his glove and pushed up his sleeve to make an attempt to cauterize the cut on his forearm.

"You walked all this way with that wound?" she asked.

He didn't answer, locking his jaw as he continued to sear it shut. The pain lanced through him, hot, driving, and white. 

"I can help you," she offered.

With her magic? "No."

"I... was a medic. Let me take a look," she pushed herself up, nestling the child against her hip as she trailed forward. 

"No."

Her eyes creased, becoming narrow, framed by thick lashes as she pursed her lips into a thin white line. "Stop being a brat. Do you think I'm going to do the same to you as I did to that thing with the axe?" she challenged.

"Perhaps."

"I don't need to be next to you to do that."

Right. She'd done that feet away. He had carried her miles, across the arid landscape, with her head bowed just against his helmet. Had she wanted to, she could have killed him with the same magic. Still, Din didn't quite comprehend why she was offering to help. He was her captor. She owed him nothing. Sparing a small glance, he saw that both she and the child were shivering in the cool night of Arvala-7. 

"What can you do?" he asked harshly.

Rolling her eyes, she bent over his arm, observing the wound that had coagulated. "It should be cleaned properly before you cauterize it."

"I've cauterized many just like this-"

"And I bet you have plenty of scars, some of which made you sick to your stomach," she retorted, pressing him with a tart smile. "Surprised you're still alive, soldier. Well... not quite. You fight like men I've known amongst the Green Berets, Rangers, and SEALs, but that doesn't matter here. Your machine is not working properly."

Din didn't comprehend the jargon she was using so naturally, but that same tone had returned. The tinny, weak voice had disappeared and was replaced with a frank and brazen tone. Commanding, almost. But she wasn't wrong. Din had cauterized many of his wounds, some of which were so deep that sealing them in such a rushed manner had made him ill. But if he didn't have bacta on hand, he had no other choice or manner to repair his flesh without fear of making himself weak as he bled.

A medic. Medics didn't have magic powers. Perhaps she had served in the war and was a valuable prisoner for the Empire. Again, not his business, but it seemed that she did care. Perhaps her oath as a medic made her empathetic to the injured.

"What do you suggest then?" he prompted acidly.

"Let me look," she challenged.

Growling slightly, he lifted his arm to show her the wound. Her free hand shot out, gripping tightly and turning his arm over. Pursing his lips, he suppressed a groan at the insistence in her movements which sent pain lancing to his fingertips and jolted up his elbow into his shoulder. 

"What is this?" she gestured to the cauterizer, which was odd. If she were a medic, she would have seen many of these. 

"You're the medic, tell me."

She didn't appreciate his snark, he could tell by the dry look plain on her face as she devoted her attention to his arm. "It's superficial, but I bet it hurts," her lips twisted up spitefully, mocking him. Perhaps he'd deserved that, she had only been trying to help, but he couldn't trust her. "My suggestion? Get your machine working and sear it. Proper sanitation would assure that the axe wasn't dirty enough to poison your blood. However, given your vitals now - or at least what I can observe behind all that metal - you are fine. Otherwise, you would be feeling the effect of blood poisoning at this point."

So nothing in addition to what he was doing. Jerking his arm away from her, he continued to work on the machine to get it working well enough to cauterize his injury. She turned away, settling back against the sand to shield the baby with her bare arms, lending her warmth to the child. Despite her curtain of hair, midway through fixing the machine, he noticed that she was quivering. 

Why would he care? She'd survive a cold night. But he did care. Sparing one more look in her direction, he found himself standing up from his perch and removing his cloak. Even if she was a bounty, Din Djarin couldn't stand to see a woman and child shivering in the cold. Again, those thick lashes fluttered and she pinned accusing amethyst eyes on him. But rather than spurn him, she gave a slight now of acknowledgement.

"Thank you."

He questioned her upbringing again, but that was dangerous. Din was a bounty hunter and developing any amount of feelings toward his charges just brought forth unnecessary weakness. While he thought this, searing his wound as she had directed, he glanced down toward their small forms huddled on the ground. The baby was pressed against her collar, knees tucked up, and the cloak wrapped tightly as she slept. Strange. For a bounty, she'd been able to fall asleep so easily. Typically, his charges were restless and required binding. Even as easy as this bounty was complying, he found himself questioning the Client again.

When morning came, the young woman had regained enough strength to walk on her own. Trailing closer to where he had left the Razor Crest, Din was horrified to find that his ship had been partially stripped from the crest they stood upon. Cocking her head, the female gave him a sideways glance. 

"I hope that wasn't yours."

It was. 

He slapped his telescope shut, gritting his teeth. "Stay here," he ordered her. Where would she run? Back into the sand and possibly into hands that might've preferred bringing her and the child in cold? Drawing his blaster, he approached the sandtrawler of Jawas to get the pieces of his ship back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Din is describing when looking at Emma’s shoulder is a scar is a bullet wound, though it's obviously different from blaster wounds. Tiny hole for the entrance, big hole going out - hollow points. Emma was shot in her shoulder and the bullet went clean through. He doesn't know what it is because Earth uses metal bullets instead of lasers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, you all are amazing. I really can't believe all the positivity I've received for the work so far! I'm really excited to keep diving into the details.
> 
> Again, we're chugging along slowly, because I want to include all the details.

_"You will face many defeats in life, but never let yourself be defeated."_

* * *

Emma knew she couldn't fight the bounty hunter, but she was taken aback by his manners. Well, she couldn't really call them manners, but she likened them to how soldiers might treat a POW. At least he seemed to understand when she was too weak to continue or when she was cold. Without the ability to see his face, she couldn't truly gauge his expressions and the disdain he might have for her. Still... the Force made up where she lacked. He was mysterious, difficult to read, but there was a neutral tone that sung when he looked toward her and Grogu. True neutral.

This was simply a job for him and yet, rather than kill them and drag their corpses back to his ship, he'd decided to struggle along with them in tow. There was no reason to do this aside from the fact that the person beneath the armor had a heart and couldn't bring themself to shoot a woman and child in cold blood. Emma should have been thankful for that, but her suspicions superseded that. Given her callous treatment in this galaxy until this point, she couldn't trust the first person who'd shown her a shred of humanity. The Nikto mercenary who had been kind to her had been missing his face when they left the storage room. Whether it had been the man or the robot, she didn’t know, suppose it didn’t matter.

Still, her compassion overwhelmed her when she saw that he was injured. Staff Sergeant Mars took over, the fight she'd witnessed early impressing her. The man knew how to fight and he'd protected them. Perhaps in his own interests, but he was their shield. In _her_ own interests, she knew that sticking to the armed warrior was their best bet in not being killed. Whoever was tracking them, didn't care if they lived or died. Part of her wondered, considering that Doctor Pershing hadn’t wanted them scratched. Who was giving these new orders?

Now, rising over a jagged, toothy mountain, Emma could see a small ship in the distance, partially stripped and surrounded by tiny cloaked creatures. Part of her thought she recognized the shortstacks from a movie, but couldn't place them that well. Her memory was hazy and had not improved since her departure from Earth. 

"Stay here," the male ordered. He drew his rifle, laying prone against the hill, pressing into the sand and propping the buttstock into the pocket of his shoulder. A loud boom emanated from the rifle, locking his shoulder back from the kick, reminding her duly of a .50 caliber. His thumb flicked a lever, drawing a charging hand - a fucking charging handle - it was the first one she'd seen since arriving in this galaxy. Another round chambered and the figures down by the stripped ship began panicking, running straight for where the sniper shot had hailed down on them.

Emma took a step back, keenly aware that the wave of cloaked figures were making a mad dash toward him. The pram drifted toward her, hooking her fingers along the edge as she drew away from the armored hunter. He seemed unbothered, as if the dozen midgets weren't going to prove to be an issue. However, since the rifle had a charging handle, she knew eventually it would have to be reloaded with rounds - perhaps those that encircled his right calf. 

They weren't interested in her, surging over the crest in a brown wave like a dirty tsunami, gibbering in a foreign language. Now, she could see crimson dots leering from beneath the cowls of her dark hoods, raising their pistols toward the warrior who'd climbed to his feet, leveling his rifle. He was at a clear disadvantage and Emma just watched, wondering what trick he might have up his sleeve. 

He had none.

Overconfidence and maybe fury had driven him to open fire on them without a plan. They didn't kill him, their weapons set to stun, electricity pulsing over the warrior's silhouette, driving him down to the ground with a thump. Sparing a few questioning glances in her direction, the creatures decided she wasn't a threat and tottered back down the hill toward their enormous ground ship, which reminded her slightly of Howl's Moving Castle. 

Emma trailed forward once the last alien disappeared, glancing down at the fallen man as his breath raised his crimson breastplate. Arching a brow, she bent down and snagged his rifle from his frozen hands. Not to kill him. He'd spared her and the child, she couldn't kill him in hope of escaping off planet. Rather, she crept up the same hill that he'd perched on. Glancing down the scope, her arm trembled against the weight of the weapon as she tried to balance it. The creatures were just reaching their vehicle, intent on running rather than fighting. 

A glove gripped her boot and yanked. Her arms were wrapped around the strap to the rifle, using it to help steady the weapon against her. So, it followed her as she was dragged through the sand, her elbows chafing, her skirt riding up. God, skirts were not made for being a soldier. Emma's eyes watered, a hand thrusting down to try and catch the skirt that had hiked up over her knees and very nearly her ass too. 

"What're you doing?" he demanded, grip not loosening on her ankle as she fussed over the straps of the rifle. 

"Looking!" she snarled, tugging her skirt down, a bunch of sand getting inside. "I could have killed you if I wanted to, fuck off." She must have startled him, such foul words tumbling from her mouth, but Mars was back. "They're getting away."

That stirred him. Rather than reprimanding her, he jumped to his feet, slipping through the soft slope of the dirt and sand before getting his bearings. In fact, he was so possessed by what was happening that he jumped over the hill and sped down after the little monsters. Emma snorted in spite of herself, drawing the rifle back up, glancing down the scope once again. Great, her clothes were filled with sand now thanks to the bounty hunter, but at least she was going to get a show. 

She drew the charging handle, frowning when she expelled the last cartridge, clinking softly into the dirt with the metallic ring of the drawback. Reaching, she picked it back up, confirming it was the same type of round that the warrior wore on his boot, before she found the front and loaded it back into the weapon. Tightening the strap against her elbow, she observed the hopeless fight that the man tried to endure against the moving plinth. Hopeless. Why was he trying so hard? Emma wasn't a sniper, even if she held such a rifle between her fingers, making such a shot would be difficult. 

The wind, the distance, and the movement. She'd not been trained to do this. An M4 was considerably lighter and her handgun training wouldn't translate to this powerful firearm. Still, through the scope she watched as he made a valiant effort. All in vain, gripping onto the ship and evading the debris that the little gremlins chucked at him. Eventually, he'd tugged himself to the top, utilizing a grappling hook to jerk him to the summit. Trailing the rifle after him, she wondered if she could hit him and end this struggle for freedom. His ship was in pieces and she didn't know how to fly it. 

Her tongue slid over her parched lips, cracked and chapped, her finger moved back up against the flat of the rifle rather than the trigger. Killing him would earn her nothing. And that was if she could hit him, which she doubted. He'd know that she'd aimed at him and would return with less kindness. She didn't have to wait long, the misfits used another stunning weapon on him. Maybe they knew their bullets wouldn't get through his armor and resorted to other methods, but she flinched as she watched his body get knocked to the top of the machine, which... was quite a far fall. 

Emma's legs betrayed her, fingers snagging the strap and slinging it over her shoulder as she began running down the hill. Grogu’s pram flanked her, the baby confused as to what was going on as she kicked her legs out beneath her in effort. The medic in her couldn’t leave a fallen person. Puffing toward him, she eventually reached the hunter’s limp form on the ground, dust kicking up in the wake of the gremlins’ machine. Dropping the rifle in the dirt, she did as she would have done with anyone. Her fingers moved for his helmet, trying to find the button to disengage it - because of course it wasn’t a normal helmet - when he woke up. 

Gloved fingers dug painfully into her wrists, and she was forced onto her back in the blink of an eye. Given the distance of the fall, Emma would have assumed there’d be some kind of neck or head trauma. Guess logic didn’t apply here. Or the armor had done a better job at protecting than she assumed. However, that didn’t explain why her wrists were screaming in pain, pinned against her sides as the hunter tackled her. Huffing, the sand still underneath her shirt and skirt, ground excruciatingly into her skin as he straddled her. 

“What do you think you're doing?” 

What? He’d just fallen off the top of a ship. How had he moved? He should have been injured. “I was going to check your vitals. Perhaps for a concussion or next injury considering how far you fell,” Emma retorted sternly. “Can’t check for a concussion without seeing your eyes.”

His grip tightened and Emma bit back a cry, a small whine betraying her in the back of her throat, brutally reminded that she was not friends with this man. He craned down, the darkness of his visor meer inches from her face. “ _I’m fine._ ” Throwing her hands away roughly, he got up and turned away. 

Sitting, Emma grabbed the front of her shirt and shook it, trying to dislodge sand from her sweaty skin. Hell, this place was more like Afghanistan than she liked to admit. Sunburn, check. Sand everywhere, check. Moody, testosterone filled male? Check. “Pardon me for not believing you. Fall like that should’ve broken your back,” she snipped back, climbing to her feet, spitting out a bit of grit from inside her mouth. _God_ the sand was _everywhere._ If she wasn’t with a stranger, she might’ve tried to wipe it out from between her legs. Instead, she knew she wasn’t going to get that luxury and she didn’t want this asshole staring at her while she did that. 

"What's your thing with the helmet? It didn't come off last night either," Emma realized as she dusted herself off as much as would be allowed and to keep her modesty. Her hair was a mess, dirt caked beneath her nails, and skin in desperate need of a good scrubbing. Maybe even a powerwash at this point. 

Ripping the rifle strap off her shoulder, Emma sighed, the man shouldering it back into place and only sparing the briefest of looks at her. Did he see what an absolute mess she was? No. He was considering her, she could sense that much from the Force. "You-" his voice was still metallic and cold, but he was confused. "-don't know?"

"Know what?" Emma crossed her arms, regretting it immediately as her shoulders protested, the sunburn pulling taut and the remnant of sands grinding against her breasts. Grumbling again, she shook the front of the shirt in a futile attempt to dislodge more. "I don't know half of what goes on here. I'm not from this galaxy."

"Where then?"

"Earth, the Milky Way," Emma informed him, the words rolling off her tongue in a familiar but queer way. Almost as if she didn't quite believe such a place existed anymore. This hell, wherever she was, had become her existence. Might've been easier to plead ignorance and that she lost her memory, but still had too much knowledge wrapped up in her head to make that believable. 

"Where is that?"

"The Milky Way-" Emma repeated. "Your people have intergalactic methods of travel and you don't know where the damn Milky Way is? You know, Earth, Jupiter, Mars, Pluto, Saturn, etcetera, etcetera-" her voice was becoming irritated, her accent peeking through. Emma was dirty, uncomfortable, and hurting. Her patience had frayed and so had her typical care to mask her New England accent. Pinning a glare on him, she didn't care if she was bound at this point. Couldn't be much more uncomfortable than she already was. 

"I have traveled most of the galaxy and I've never heard of this place," he informed her, almost as if she were stupid, and spouting nonsense.

Emma's jaw slackened slightly, lashes narrowing as the sour look on her face didn't fade. "Right, because I just like wasting time and making up stories. Whatever. What's the plan? Because your ship is clearly in no state to fly."

He glanced back in the direction that the creatures' vehicle had sped off in. There was no hope in assaulting it unless he had some kind of bombs stashed on his person, which Emma highly doubted. Weapons, while different, seemed to be similar to those back home. Rifles, handguns, grenades. They reacted and worked in various manners she'd never seen, but they were familiar. Rather than answer her, he started walking toward his ship.

Trotting after, Emma groaned slightly as her thighs chafed, but made an attempt to keep up. The bones were there, but much of the exterior and inner workings of the ship were misplaced, having been stripped. He moved quickly, inside the ship, giving her a hard look before clicking up a ladder. Emma nearly threw up her hands, as if to say 'What am I going to do?' But she did look around, curious as to how this ship fared in space. She didn't know anything about spaceships and this one was not the same as the enormous one she'd been trapped on with Grogu.

A loud bang, perhaps a fist against something, made Emma roll her eyes over to the child. Curling her lips at him, "Don't think we're going anywhere anytime soon."

Grogu cooed in agreement. She knew that he didn't comprehend the severity of what was going on. As far as the baby knew, the stranger had saved them and was getting them off the planet. A plan. She needed a plan. If they did get into space eventually, was there a way she could trick the man? Even if she could, where would she go? Emma didn't know the first thing about this galaxy or who might be willing to help her. Half-baked plans were not going to save them. She needed to learn more about this place. Jedi would help her. Emma knew that for certain, but she didn't know how to contact the Order. If they were visiting in her dreams, couldn't they just tell where she was? Maybe they were coming and she just had to buy time.

"What are you-" the man had returned again as Emma was leaning against a storage container, using a discarded rag to wipe the insides of her thighs to try and alleviate the rash she'd gotten from the sand. Glancing down, she realized how inappropriate it might look, the skirt pulled up and the tops of her thighs bared. Seems he was asking her quite often what she was doing.

Rather than be embarrassed, she gave him a wry smile. "Not all of us have nice, protective clothing. Not to mention you rubbed my face in the sand - twice." Oh, it took her just a second to comprehend that he was abashed by finding her in an unbecoming situation. Must've reminded him that she was a person and not just a bounty. Or, that she was a woman. Bounty hunting was a lucrative business, probably a lonely one. 

"I didn't-"

"You did," Emma returned firmly, pulling her skirt back down to save him his pride. "Don't be so coy. You'd almost have me believing that a scary man such as yourself hasn't seen a woman before." That made him stiffen, Emma enjoying the jab as she stood up and turned back to the baby. 

"We must continue. I know of someone who might be able to help," he swept by her, his cloak flapping like a flag, tilting his helmet back to peer at her from the edge of his visor. 

"Oh, you have friends? I didn't really peg you for the friendly type," Emma smarted, the pram listing after her. Her legs were still raw, but at least she'd managed to clean the sand away. Curling her toes in her boot, she was thankful to see that the sun was beginning to set over the horizon chasing hues of violet, amber, and orange. Maybe if she weren't a prisoner, she might've enjoyed how beautiful it was, the puffs of clouds forming a thin blanket above the snaggle tooth mountains and refracting the golden sunset. 

The journey to this 'friend' did not take as long as she had originally anticipated. Only just over a plateau a farm came into view. There weren't any plants or crops to be seen, so what the farm was used for was beyond her scope. But the creature they came up upon was yet another alien. Short, humanoid, a pig nose, and long jowls, he wore an aviator had and padded earthen toned clothing that looked a lot more comfortable than her own itchy semblance. 

Deep set eyes slid between her and then to the child in the pram. 

"I thought you had died," the being said to her captor. "I'm surprised to see you back here."

Emma's eyes went to the paddock that had these... strange creatures in them. Hulking, hunch backed, and with thick skin like a rhinoceros. Their heads were their bodies and one opened their mouth to reveal triangular teeth. Sort of reminded her of a retarded t-rex. She snorted at her own joke, drawing a look from the two who were talking.

"These two caused all of that fuss?" the alien said, still observing her and the baby.

"Yes. They are the assets."

"Perhaps I know why your Client wants them alive, but it is still most curious..." he looked back up at the warrior. "Why haven't you gone?"

"My ship has been destroyed by Jawas and now I am stranded here."

"Jawas may steal, but they do not destroy," the alien countered.

"It makes no difference. I have no ship and the Jawas are protected by their crawling fortress-"

The baby had managed to climb out of the pram. Emma kept an eye on Grogu as he tottered around, eyes lighting up as he set his sights on a frog. _Ha!_ A frog. Seems that there were some congruences between galaxies. 

"You should trade with the Jawas."

"Are you crazy? Why would I trade with them? They stole parts of my ship."

"I have spoken."

Grogu caught the frog, but Emma was too bemused with watching that she'd forgotten how children could be. They liked to put things in their mouths. Grogu did just this, making her jump forward to try and grab the frog that was half sticking out of his mouth before he could do more damage. What if it was poisonous? What if he choked on it? But as she picked him up to rip the frog out of his mouth, the baby swallowed it whole. Holding him, arms extended, Emma gaped at Grogu before he burped in her face. 

"I take it he hasn't done that before," the hunter snarked.

"Haven't given him the chance to before," Emma answered, forcing the baby's mouth open to peer down his gullet. Frog had gone clear down his throat.. God, aliens and their different physiology. She kept forgetting there was so much that she didn't know. Just when she thought she was beginning to get a grasp on things, another crazy event would happen. 

For the evening, they turned into the alien’s ranch. His name was Kuiil and he was astonishingly welcoming and hospitable toward her. She was allowed to use the washroom to get rid of all the grime on her skin, the sand, and wash her hair for the first time in forever. Steam puffed up the room and Emma enjoyed the privacy. She’d endured a painful sunburn on her shoulders and part of her back, the skin exposed to the elements all day. The soap smelled funny, but at least she didn’t stink. Her clothes did. Wrinkling her nose, a gentle knock on the door drew her attention. Thinking it was Kuiil, she tightened the towel around her frame and cracked it. 

No. The glint of scratched crimson armor met her field of vision as she glanced out, wondering if the warrior had believed she might try to run away under the guise of showering. Emma wasn’t demure, nor coy, so standing in a towel didn’t bother her much. You sort of lost your sense of shame when you joined the military and were naked amongst your fellow soldiers… Well, the ones of the same gender. But still, she felt nothing as she stood there. Her important parts were covered afterall. 

“Yes?” she inquired, tilting her chin up with a bit of defiance to observe the darkness of his visor from the slit in the door. 

“Kuiil had extra clothing. It may fit you,” he offered a bundle in his hands, folded neatly, and of the same soft linen and cotton that she’d noticed on the alien before. Again, just when she was growing irritated with the bounty hunter, he went and did something kind. “You will fare much better in suitable clothing than what you have now.”

Ah, nope. It was just to make his life easier so she didn’t complain of rashes all day. Still, she was glad that she wouldn’t be mucking around in the skirt again. Emma didn’t forget her manners as she accepted the clothes. “Thank you.” But she had no name for him, just as he had no name for her. Under the assumption that he didn’t care, she hadn’t bothered to share it. “My name is Emma by the way. Emma Mars.”

He turned away and left without another word.

“Ok, bye…” Emma called after him sarcastically. Give herself a name and it made it harder for him to see her as an object. These little seeds could be planted, but she didn’t know if they could be sowed. But they were tiny hopes that maybe she might be able to convince him not to turn her and Grogu into the Empire. Clicking the door shut in front of her, Emma subconsciously twitched toward the nook of her left elbow where Pershing had favored drawing blood from. 

The rest of the night consisted of getting dressed, washing Grogu, cleaning his clothes, and settling down for bed. He was restless, still reeling from the events of the day, excited to be adventuring. Even if they had a soul link, Emma couldn’t bring herself to rip away the newfound hope the baby had. Let him enjoy this freedom for now. It might be the last time they had such. 

“Come now, we should go to sleep. Kuiil said we’re going to get up at dawn. That’s early-” Emma scolded lightly as she smoothed down his peach fuzz. Her new clothes were a lot more comfortable and consisted of pants, layers, and scarves to wrap up around her head when outside. Her sunburn still stabbed at her shoulders like coals pressed to her flesh, but the pain was barely noticeable as Grogu chimed and reached toward her. “Ok, fine. _One_ song. How about… a fun one? One about my home… sort of…” Clearly her throat, Emma considered a song she’d grown up with. “ _Now that she's back in the atmosphere_

_With drops of Jupiter in her hair_

_She acts like summer and walks like rain-”_

She didn’t sing with as much emotion or gusto as the original song, keeping her voice down as to not disturb anyone else as she lilted the tune toward the baby. That’d been their tradition. Song sharing. Or… Emma would share songs to keep him calm. Those cold, frigid nights in the cell, the songs had been some of the only warming and redeeming moments. Her voice was decent. She was no Christina Aguilera, but she could sing in tune, hold the pitch and beat, and not sound absolutely terrible. Singing so quietly, it was easy to manipulate her voice.

Once the baby had fallen asleep, Emma curled up beside him, wondering if she’d make it back to the Milky Way. But as she tumbled into her slumber, the same brown robed figure stood in front of her, his deep voice ringing with more clarity. Power. Command. All she could see of him was a set of dark hands when he made gestures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 points to Gryffindor for those who know the song!
> 
> There will be a lot of 90s references (Emma was born 1992) and nerdy popculture, since she is a nerd, just not a Star Wars one. She does like to quote Game of Thrones, so given the opportunity, she'll do it again.


	5. Chapter 5

_“It isn’t where you came from; it’s where you’re going that counts.”_

* * *

_“But tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded?”_

_“And are you lonely looking for yourself out there?”_

He’d never heard a song like that. Not the light, bright tune, but also the depth of the words, including names and places he did not recognize. Din had gone to check on his charges, cracking the door just enough to hear the woman, Emma, singing gently to the baby. Listening felt like an absurdly impolite thing to do, but his feet wouldn’t carry him away. Instead, he stood there for the entirety of the song, wondering if what Emma had told him was true. That she was from another galaxy. He didn’t comprehend how that could be possible, but there were hints that she was not lying. The words and jargon she used, her accent, even the song she was singing now. None of it was familiar and Din Djarin was a well traveled man.

She was an enigma. But she was frank. And truthfully, he might have enjoyed getting a look at her after she took her shower. The dirt had been scrubbed away from her soft peachy skin, her ivory waves loose and fluffy, vibrant eyes stark against the steam and contrast of the white tones surrounding her. A slight color from the heat had tickled her delicate cheekbones. Nor was she demure or embarrassed by being caught in improper situations. Despite the youth on her face, that lack of coyness reminded him that she was a woman and not a child. She’d actually teased him when she had caught him staring back amongst the bones of the Razor Crest. But he had been impudent, forgetting that he had dragged her through the sand a couple of times.

He’d been with women. But he didn’t need to point that out to her. She was his bounty, not a friend. While a pretty bounty, Din reminded himself that night that he couldn’t let his heart get the better of him. Being disarmed by a comely face might be his undoing. No. He’d seen what the Client had waiting for him back on Nevarro. More beskar. His durasteel armor was almost falling apart. He needed the beskar to finally complete his ensemble. A woman and child would not get the better of him and his life. 

Then _why_? Why did he hear her song in his ears as he laid down, lulling him to sleep like a siren? 

He chalked it up to the significant amount of time it had been since he’d been with a woman. Since his falling out with Xi’an, such relations had not been easy to come by and he wasn’t the type to go to the Red Light district just to relieve himself. Now, because he was stranded, he was getting to know his bounty more than he’d prefer. It would have been easier to just put her in cryo and not hear another sarcastic or glib word out of her mouth. Easier to put distance. Now he knew her name: Emma Mars. Such a strange name. 

Come morning, he joined Kuiil out by the hoversled being pulled by blurrgs. Emma stood nearby with the child propped against her hip, her violet eyes watching warily. Her hair had been braided out of her face, falling against her back. A scarf had been tugged up to hide her neck and encircle the top of her head to shade her eyes slightly. She’d managed to make the Ugnaught’s spare clothes fit her, utilizing the belt and extra fabric to cinch it around her narrow waist and set it into place. The baby was expressive in her arms, unbothered by the frog he’d devoured the evening prior, his ears flickering as he drank in the rise of dawn. 

Kuiil finished packing, setting the tact on the blurrg, and ushered them into the hoversled. Din was dismayed in having to be so close to the petite woman, nearly brushing her as they sat in the floating sled, but he tried to distract himself by keeping watch for enemy hunters. His mind went back to how she'd run up when he'd fallen from the Jawas' fortress. She'd tried to remove his helmet. Her rationalization made sense, but... she didn't know what Mandalorians were. Even the most backwater planets knew of the glory of Mandalore and its inhabitants. And the most disturbing part was that she'd come rather close to lifting his helmet, but hadn't been able to find the button to disengage it before he rounded on her. 

There had been no ill intent, but that did not matter. No one could see his face. 

The journey across Arvala-7's desert landscape brought his attention back toward his charges. Emma was leaned over the edge with the baby cocked in her arm, so that she could point out fauna as they skimmed by. "And that? I dunno, but if I had to come up with a name for it, looks like a tiny jabberwocky-" she rambled on, keeping the child entertained. She was good at that. And the child, despite clearly not being her own, was closely bonded with her. He did wonder how they'd become a pair. "But watch out for gnashing teeth!" she warned, tickling a hand into the baby's abdomen, eliciting tinkling giggles from the child as she pretended to snap at him like a wild beast.

He glanced away, growing anxious the longer he spent on this planet. Eventually, they reached the Jawa encampment, the bloody little bastards recognizing Kuiil and entreating him. Din threw his leg over the edge of the hoversled and pinned a look at his charges. 

"Stay here."

Emma looked at him for the first time, batting her thick lashes a couple of times before completely ignoring what he said. She wriggled down the side of the sled and trotted after them, daring him to stop her. Part of him was of a mind to actually bind her at this point, but she'd been surprisingly compliant until this point. He didn't think she wanted to go back to the Client, but she also hadn't shot him with his Amban rifle when he'd left it in her hands.

Immediately, the Jawas' chipper demeanor was traded with angry bellowing and hissing. Din could understand some of the snippets, their fury over what had happened yesterday.

"They're not very keen on you," Kuiil admitted, sparing a glance back at him. 

"He might've shot a few," Emma piped up, drawing closer to the Jawas that he preferred. Her eyes were wide and interested as she tried to get a better look. Din reached forward, snagging her shoulder and wrenching her back a few paces. 

Kuiil listened to the Jawas, nodding slowly before turning back to him. "They want you to drop your weapons."

Right. Likely. "No. My weapons are a part of my religion," he returned obstinately.

Emma arched a brow at him. "You know, you're not quite in the position to be making demands."

Din grit his teeth and Kuiil acknowledged her. "She is right. If you do not, you will not get your parts back."

He needed his parts back. Unstrapping his Amban rifle, every movement petulant and bitter, he began dropping the armada back into the hoversled, leaving just his sidearm. Kuiil gave a dubious look. "That too." Grumbling, Din slammed his blaster top of his rifle and rounded back toward the Jawas. 

"Stay-" he started, trying again to order the woman. 

"With all your weapons?" she widened her eyes, trying to look innocent and coy.

 _Fuck._ She knew how to use them. The way she'd shoulder the rifle and thumbed the charging handle. She knew. Din suspected she was a soldier somewhere due to her mannerisms and the curses that would sometimes slip out of her mouth. The scar on her shoulder also appeared to be a wound from a gun. Maybe from her queer galaxy that she'd spoken about. Leaving her with all his weapons... 

"Go," he nodded, about to nudge her forward when she shot him a punctuated and sharp glare. He could feel the heat of the look through his visor, right into his eyes, that he was slightly startled. Twirling back around, Emma sauntered up alongside of Kuiil, not requiring a physical prod to be told where to go. Perhaps he had been too rough with her, perhaps - what was he thinking? She was a bounty. Why did he care if he was rough with her? 

On the ship, the Jawas chittered, his fingers clenched by his sides as he felt uncomfortably naked without a firearm nearby. His charge was glancing amongst the collected treasures, setting the child down so that he could also explore. Out of the way, but still nearby, he listened on as Kuiil continued to barter.

"They said they will trade you the parts of your starship for your beskar armor," Kuiil informed him. 

Din had a clever remark for them, utilizing his sparse knowledge of their language to lob an insult. The Jawas squealed in response, Emma turning to stare amongst them, rewarding Din with an unimpressed look as she folded her arms. She was giving him a look that a mother would when a child had been rude.

One Jawa retorted back that he sounded like a Wookie.

Losing his temper completely, he pressed his vambrace and whirled the flamethrower with little heed for the close quarters. The baby screamed along with the Jawas and Emma cursed, catching her hand before Kuiil fought him for control of the weapon before the fire guttered out. 

"Stop it!" Kuiil snapped irritably. "Unless you want to kill your bounties while you're at it-"

Din snapped his head toward the pair, Emma had her fingers in her mouth, eyes watery. In the moment of rage, he'd sent flames right in her direction as she meandered amongst the Jawas. She didn't seem that hurt, but she was glaring openly at him between tears. Din Djarin would be lying to himself if he said that he didn't feel guilty. Huffing a sigh, he let the Ugnaught take control of the deliberations.

The Jawa gestured to the child next. Even if the young woman couldn't understand them, she comprehended their gestures. She stomped over and snatched the baby up. He saw that her fingertips had been singed, the child also noticing as she held him. Gibbering, he grasped her hand as she pressed her brow to his.

"Get away from them," Din snapped at the plying Jawas.

The small beings turned toward each other, speaking quietly, considering, before addressing Kuiil once more. Stiffening slightly, the Ugnaught betrayed little else before he turned his wise eyes up toward the Mandalorian. "They will return your parts if you obtain the 'Egg' for them."

Just the slight mention of the egg riled up the Jawas, who began chanting and throwing their arms up. It was decided. This 'egg' for the parts. Loading up the sandcrawler, the Jawas began escorting them toward where these eggs might be located. He approached Emma as she sat down with the child, tucking her hand away that had been kissed by the fire. 

Clearing his throat, he bent down beside them. Her eyes listed up, again rather tepid as he stuck a gloved hand out. "Your fingers-"

"They're fine. I was a medic, remember? I think I can tell that they're barely 1st degree," she answered. 

"Will you just show me?"

Amethyst irises narrowed, her brows twitching slightly. "Why? Worried that you'll get less if I'm returned with a few blisters?"

Locking his jaw, he wondered why he'd even tried. But, after a moment longer of his staring, she pulled her hand out and offered it. Carefully turning her palm over in his gloves, he saw that the tips of her fingers had caught the flame, the pale skin tinged red where she'd been hit, against calloused fingertips and to the first knuckle. Four affected digits in total, but she was correct, the dermal layer hadn't been penetrated. 

"Be more aware of your surroundings next time," he dropped her hand.

"Oh," but that wasn't a soft admission, her nose scrunched up as she continued, "Right. Because I'm supposed to know on a dime's notice when you're about to have a tantrum with a flamethrower." Each word was dripping with more sarcasm than he thought was humanly possible.

His apology died on the back of his throat. Instead, he sat away from her as they waited to be delivered to the destination. It took a few hours, but the dock dropped and the trio stepped out amongst a crowded outcropping of terracotta ridges. The hill sloped down and bent a corner, which was not visible from the sandcrawler. Kuiil stayed behind, but Emma and the baby accompanied him. All he needed was for the Jawas to claim them too.

The corner and decline led to a muddy basin, to which the mouth of a cave beckoned with a shadowy overhang, rocks framing it like sarlacc teeth. He gestured to Emma, signalling that she and the child were to remain where they were. Standing in the mud, she gave a simple nod and listened this time. 

Retrieving a torchlight from his belt, he ventured beneath the craggy opening, his boots squelching through the thick mud. Illuminating the path in front of himself, he could make out the remnants of bones... a lot of bones. Hopefully, whatever had picked them clean wasn't there. But he wouldn't get such luck on Arvala-7. Rather, he was destined to continue having the poorest luck of any mission he'd encountered yet.

The face of an enormous, horned creature loomed into view, the light of his torch catching the reflective glow in its eyes. Din took a step backward, observing the thick skin and gaping hole of a mouth it had. He turned around and ran.

Breaking out of the cave, the ground trembled as if there were an earthquake, the creature trundling after him. He rounded, bracing his blaster before standing his ground. Outside the confines of its cave, Din saw that the beast was even larger than he had originally anticipated. Coated in a slick of mud, the creature roared viciously before he unleashed multiple blaster shots toward it. Pinging off of its thick skin, all the bolts did was enrage it. Rather than balk, he went to reload his blaster, the mudhorn charging him.

Before he could point the blaster again, the monster thrust the flat of its horn against his durasteel chestplate. He went sailing back through the air, landing with an unceremonious splat in the mud, which slicked to him. Groaning, his head spun from the impact and he knew from the crunch of the metal, that his breastplate's integrity had been ruined. 

A strong hand gripped him, yanking him back through the mud, away out of the path of the charging beast before the ally fell down behind him. "Get up!" Emma roared, her head whipping as she saw that the creature was still charging and moving toward the baby's pram. Her hand flew out, concentration lining her features before the carriage spun out of the monster's path, moved again by her magic. Certain the baby was out of harm's way for the moment, she hooked her hands underneath his armpits and hauled him to his feet. Din didn't think that someone so small had such strength in her, but watched as she plunked back down in the mud weakly, the momentary adrenaline losing its bite. 

He sprinted at the mudhorn, engaging his flamethrower to cast it directly into the animal's face. Roaring in pain, it began to edge backward to retreat into its den. "Oh no you don't," he growled, shooting his grappling hook around the horn and making a futile attempt to dig his heels in and stop it from fleeing. He was flung like a ragdoll, splashing back into the mud, his visor obscured by the viscous liquid. Emma was too far to offer him help, but watched in horror as she distracted the creature with the blaster that he'd lost amongst the scuffle. 

All it did was piss it off more. Although, she did hit it.

Stumbling back up, he drew his vibro-blade and tried to get in between them. Maybe his armor could withstand one more strike, but if it hit her - she'd die. That realization dawned on her too late as her fingers fumbled the blaster, coated with slippery mud, and she cursed, losing her footing, planting on her chest on the ground, as she tried to turn and run. 

Din jumped between them, brandishing the puny knife, expecting the mudhorn to make contact with him again. This time it'd do more than break his armor. His body tensed in anticipation for the impact, but it never came. Instead, the mudhorn twisted in the air, lifted off its feet completely, huffing futilely just mere feet before him. His eyes slid to Emma, wondering if she had done that, but she was sitting back in the mud, just as filthy as he was, eyes wide and panting.

No. It was the child.

Taking advantage of the brief opportunity, he turned the blade in his hand and drove it into the creature's skull. Had the knife not been a vibro-blade, it wouldn't have made it through the thickness of the bone. Twisting, the creature let out a pitiful whine before going slack. It dropped to the ground, dead, no longer floating, and no longer standing in the path of egg. His breaths were hard, chest burning still from the original brunt of the mudhorn's he'd taken. Tilting his helmet, he looked toward Emma, his legs carrying him toward her before he offered her a hand up.

Her hand shot out, gripping him by his forearm, before he tore her up from the mud. Her tendrils of starlight colored hair were mucked with the wet dirt, her face also smeared. However, there was a brightness in her eyes he'd not seen before - eyes of a warrior, burning from beneath the grime. Part of him wondered what might have happened if she hadn't pulled him out of the way of the mudhorn during its second charge. Why was she helping him?

They both went to look at the baby, who had collapsed in exhaustion from the miracle it had just performed. Now, why the two were a pair was beginning to dawn on him. Both of them had magic. 

Din returned into the cave to search for the egg, finding it amongst a pile of dry hay. The cave had been a den for the female mudhorn as she watched over her brood. Now she was dead. There was no solace in the kill, no thrill from it. He was just glad he was alive. Picking up the egg, he rejoined his charges, and left behind the muddy pit to rise the hill toward where the Jawas should have been waiting for them. 

They were just about to leave.

Scrambling down from their sandcrawler, he left them the egg, which the leader cracked open and began to eat raw. Others joined it, screaming in excitement as they shared the prize. 

"I'm surprised you waited," Din said to Kuiil.

"I'm surprised it took so long," Kuiil retorted, glancing over at Emma. "Looks like you had help."

Din spared a look, the woman trying to shake off some of the mud to little effect. Maker, turning the pair in was going to be difficult, but... the beskar. The beskar would always be worth it. 

The Jawas returned the parts as promised, loading up the hoversled, forcing them to walk. Still sleeping peacefully in the pram, the Ugnaught looked at him. 

"Is it sleeping or injured?"

"Recovering," Emma answered cryptically.

"I still... don't quite understand what happened during your fight with the mudhorn," Kuiil admitted, having listened to Din recount it briefly.

Emma did not speak up on this. He suspected that she knew more, but was unwilling to betray it. "Neither do I," Din relented, after waiting a moment to see if she'd explain. 

Kuiil offered to help repair the ship, cutting down what should have taken several days, to little more than a day and a half. The young woman tended the child, keeping him preoccupied once he woke up from his slumber. With each progression of the ship, he contemplated whether or not he was going to put her into cryo. Still having not decided, he faced Kuiil at the end of the repairs.

"I can't thank you enough for all your help. I would not have completed this bounty without you," Din entreated the local. "Some of the reward is rightly yours."

"No, I cannot accept any payment. You were a guest of mine and therefore, I was in your service," Kuiil brushed off.

"I... I could use a crew member of your ability. The job would pay handsomely."

"I am honored, but I have spent a lifetime working to be free of servitude," Kuiil took a step back, straightening the goggles on his hat.

"I understand," Din sighed, wishing that he could employ such a capable mechanic or at least show that he was thankful in some sort of way. "Thank you." He looked toward Emma, who trotted over with the baby, taking her cue. 

"Thank you for bringing peace to my valley," Kuiil retorted, hobbling over to his blurrg and mounting. But rather than be off with those final words, his wise eyes slid over to the woman and child. "I hope that your bounties bring you a handsome reward, Mandalorian."

Those words stung, but he tried not to dwell on it. Turning to motion for the pair to enter the ship. His head cocked toward the cryo chamber and he knew he had to do it. A journey of a few days with the woman habiting his space would not only be distracting, but might affect him even more than now. 

"Here-" he pointed towards the cryo, ushering the child's pram away. 

She didn't know what it was, which made this feel worse. Her clueless eyes settled on it and she stepped forward willingly, almost as if she didn't expect him to do anything bad to her. Din reached forward and engaged the cryo, sealing Emma in a capsule before she could comprehend what was going on. He should have been thanking the Maker for giving him such a compliant bounty, but as he stared at her visage imprinted on the slab - frozen in a state of unawareness - he gritted his teeth hard enough that his jaw ached.

A bounty. That's all she was.

Turning down to the child, he led the pram up to the cockpit. He couldn't freeze the baby, uncertain of what cryo would do to something so young. Nor was he as anxious about keeping the baby around as he had been with Emma Mars. 

_"Now that she's back in the atmosphere. With drops of Jupiter in her hair. She acts like summer and walks like rain. Reminds me that there's a time to change."_

Charting navigation, Din Djarin shoved aside all his emotions, trying to be as cool as the beskar he wore. But his hands trembled as he gripped the controls, bringing them off of the planet. And right on queue, the baby started crying. Cocking his head, he gazed into those imploring brown eyes, which flicked around nervously. Sniffling, the baby settled down for a moment, but only after Din had reached into the pram to offer up a gloved hand. 

"Sorry, you're going to be stuck with just me for a bit."

And he began crying again.

"This is going to be a long ride."

* * *

"Deliver your quarry directly to the Client. I don't care what he really wants to do with them, but he's very anxious about receiving them," Greef Karga's visage illuminated against the dash on the holographic projector as the Razor Crest listed just above Nevarro's atmosphere. "You should recall the prearranged venue from last time."

Noise stirred beside him, the child lifting his head over the dash as he grabbed a ball on the controls, claiming it as his own. "That's not a toy," Din asserted, taking the ball, screwing it back into place before he picked the toddler back up and set him into the cradle. It had been a few days since leaving Arvala-7, which had allowed Din to collect his thoughts and rationalize everything that had happened on the dust ball planet. Unique circumstances, but nothing had changed. Even his time watching over the child had only reminded him of that. 

But as he landed on Nevarro and left the solitude of the cockpit to retrieve the other bounty, his stomach twisted. It had been easier to tell himself that this would be a simple exchange, but that was also while he didn't have to suffer the young woman's company. His mind had wandered back to the Milky Way. To the strange things she would talk about. Things he'd never get to find out. 

Pulling her stasis slab out, he unfroze it. Emma sagged to the floor, palms open on the floor as she gasped like a fish out of water. Her shoulders quivered, still cold from the cryo. He reached down to offer a hand, but she slapped him. Her head craned just enough to peer at him from behind a curtain of bone white hair, violet and hard like gemstones, and _furious_. So chillingly wrathful that he nearly took a step back before remembering that she would be weak from the cryo.

He grabbed her by the scruff of her scarves, hauling her to her feet and slapping on cuffs. A soft whine parted her pale, trembling lips, but she managed a defiant glare. Despite how close they were to this exchange ending, she still did not beg. The pram was closed to keep the child from seeing his guardian in this state, listing after him as he kept a tight grip on Emma's bicep, guiding her insistently toward the Imperial remnant facility where the mission had originally been given to him.

A droid waited by the door. He produced the bounty disc, the droid chirping and turning inside. A few moments later, a pair of stormtroopers appeared, glancing between the pram and then to the disheveled woman he had in his grasp. 

Escorted into the building, Din licked his lips anxiously, not looking forward to the trade. His blood pounded in his ears, heat billowing across his face as Emma's will seemed to strengthen, making him glad that he'd bound her before taking her off the ship. There was a feral line to her shoulders, one that he'd never witnessed. Violet eyes darted between the troopers and then to the Client who was waiting.

An elderly man bedecked in fine black robes, hanging with ornate chains, unfurled a disconcerting smile as he looked at Emma and then the pram. Din pressed his vambrace, the pram opening with a snick, the child clutching the edge of the carriage before realization dawned. The baby fell back, his eyes widening, ears drooping and trembling slightly. 

"Beautiful," the Client hummed, nodding to a trooper who stepped forward and took possession of Emma. 

They were callous, ripping her away and nearly right off of her feet. Din's mouth betrayed him as his fingers snagged away from her, "Take it easy."

"You take it easy," the stormtrooper rebuffed.

Another Imp appeared, adorned in a taupe uniform, pushing his glasses up as he approached the child and began scanning him with a glowing crimson device. He turned to Emma who was writhing in the grip of the trooper, grunting quietly as she tried to get out of their grasp. The trooper was beginning to struggle to keep her under control, the doctor muttering quietly. 

"Emma, don't resist. Please, it'll be easier-" 

She headbutted him. A keldable kiss. 

The doctor staggered back, absolutely astounded by his patient's newfound fury. "Uhm," he cleared his throat, trying not to seem displaced by what had just happened. The stormtrooper who held onto her delivered a stern blow to her abdomen with the butt of his rifle, driving her to her knees with a hiss of expelled air. "Both are in good condition."

"It seems that your reputation is not unwarranted," the Client purred, folding his fingers.

"How many tracking fobs were given out?" Din asked, tearing his view away from both woman and child. 

"The assets were of _extreme_ importance to me. I had to insure their delivery. But-" he motioned for someone to come forward. "-I promised the spoils to the winner. It would seem these belong to you now." A stormtrooper came forward with a large camtono filled to the brim with beskar bars. "Such a large bounty, for such a simple package."

The baby began screaming, reaching for his guardian, who was now being dragged toward a backroom. He was to follow soon, the doctor returning to tug him after Emma. 

"What... What are your plans for them?" Din asked quietly, taking the camtono.

"Hm, that is a rather odd question for one of your reputation to inquire of. Is it not the code of the Bounty Hunters' Guild to 'forget' such events after they have been delivered? That beskar should be more than enough to make a handsome replacement for your armor, although finding a forge will be more difficult."

Understanding that it was time to take his leave, Din Djarin turned his back on the bounties. The Client was right. It was not his place to question them. He had his payment. Departing from the building, he turned down the street, trying to shake the noise from his ears. The noise of a song.

_"Did you make it to the Milky Way. To see the lights all faded?"_


	6. Chapter 6

_"Life will knock us down, but we can choose whether or not to stand back up."_

* * *

God, she couldn't believe she thought that maybe that fucking bounty hunter had a heart. After they had defeated the giant rhino, Emma had thought there'd been a little, something _something_. You know, comradery, companionship almost. Yup. And then he went and served her up as a popsicle. While she hadn't comprehended what happened, Emma was not without her wit or unconscious. No, she was aware of what was happening on the ship and that the hunter barely cared. Again, that was the thing about this galaxy, people were ruthless and Emma had already forgotten.

Even if she was furious, the few days of being locked up served as time she could work on sharpening her senses with the Force. Slipping into that dream state, she met with her mentor and continued to ply her abilities. Of course, said cloaked mysterious mentor sensed her rage and warned her not to wield it once she was released, but oh man, how she wanted to knock that hunter right off his feet. Why had she bothered saving him? Everything she had done had been in vain.

 _You don't think that_ , a small voice said in the back of her head. _You'd feel guilty if you purposely let him get hurt._

She hated that the voice was right. She hated that she cared so much about people who obviously didn't care about her. She hated that in everything she did, her heart always betrayed her. It never got easier. Why was it when you're compassionate, you're rarely rewarded for it? Look where her compassion for the hunter had gotten her. She was freaking frozen. But the worst part of it all was that when she was released from cryo, he acted like he cared, offering to help her up until she'd slapped him. 

Then all semblance of cordialness vanished and he was gruff with her. Emma didn't care. Now they'd be returned to the Empire and used for experiments again. The warrior didn't care, as long as he got paid. There were few times in her life when she had been this brutally and violently angry. She could count those instances on one hand. Emma was highly sarcastic, but she also was very forgiving. 

One instance where she had been blinded by her rage was when she returned from deployment and found out her fiance had been cheating on her. It happened to a lot of service members. Those long one to two years across seas grated on relationships, but you know, you always think 'that'll never happen to me'. And that's precisely what Emma had thought. What reason would her fiance have for cheating on her? They were going to get married once she returned, the venue was lined up, the invitations ready to be sent out. All her ducks were in a row. 

The kicker? It had been with her sister who was five years younger than her. 

He’d traded her for a younger, more immature version of herself. Even then, Emma thought her sister lacked composure and posture, she was childish, girly, and liked being pampered.

Family reunions were never the same. Perhaps that was another reason why Emma had such a tough time adjusting to civilian life once she had been discharged. She didn't turn back to her family, because they'd been caught in an awkward rut. Of course they were upset with Jenn for doing what she had done, but what Emma had done in retaliation was awful. She's ousted them to the entire family. Rather than be the adult and bite back on her pride, handle it 'eloquently' (as her mother had put it), Emma whipped out the most petty and revenge ridden payback she could muster. Now, no one looked at Jenn the same. Now, her to-be in-laws couldn't look at their son the same. 

But this anger was not on part of her own. Rather, she was furious because the child was going to fall back into the hands of the Empire. Sure, the hunter could turn her in and she'd endure it, but the baby was another story. Take pity on the child at least. She had prayed that he would, but when she saw the pram listing beside them, she knew that he hadn't. 

To put it shortly, Emma Mars had shit luck all her life and being in a galaxy far, far away hadn't done her any favors. 

_At least I'm not ugly,_ she thought wryly, a dull joke she'd try to tell herself when she was feeling down.

In a new lab, with Doctor Pershing, she was subdued into a chair after a few more well delivered blows. God, she ached all over, but she'd not fought last time and it hadn't really got her much of anywhere. With the machine pumping her blood out, all will was seeping out of her, the Force staunched once again by those awful cuffs. Closing her eyes to keep the room from swimming, she wished that she had tried running on Arvala-7.

Hindsight was always 20/20. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. There probably wouldn't be another convenient escape this time. The miracle of the Nikto pirates had been just a fluke. Nor did she believe the Empire would be so foolish to allow her to be strong enough to make another mad dash. Her arm stung, opening her eyes to see that Pershing was dosing her with a syringe. Right. She'd been right. Even with the cuffs she was growing stronger everyday and they were beginning to notice that. Better to keep her under, so that she was harmless.

But what would that do to the baby? Grogu would be with her, but she'd be in a state of inbetween. There would be no singing, there would be no gentle rabble, she'd just be there - quiet and aching. He wouldn't fare well if that happened. He needed her to be strong and to be his support. So much unbridled pain in someone so tiny. Her breath stole from her, the overwhelming sensation of misery creeping in and sinking its fangs into her neck, drinking away her will like a vampire. 

Emma passed out.

"You disobeyed a direct order, Sergeant Mars," the voice rang out bitterly, staring down a hooked nose, the burnished glint of a golden eagle set against the uniform. 

"I am the SHARP NCO for this battalion," Mars retorted, leveling her jaw toward the commanding officer. There had been unsettling rumors spreading like wildfire across their base. "I take any allegations of sexual harassment quite seriously."

"Tell me who made such allegations," Colonel Kipper demanded, leaning against his desk, crossing his arms. 

"Sir, you know that I am not allowed to. Any documentation will be filed accordingly and outside the Chain of Command. I am working currently with the chaplain, so there are officers involved in this situation as well. However, I am not at liberty to go over any of the details," Mars answered crisply. She knew her jurisdiction over this. Being on a base overseas was not going to change her stance. Perhaps he thought that because she was smaller than him, that she was a woman, that she'd balk under his impassive gaze. After all, he was the commander for the entire base. But protocol dictated and Mars knew she was in the right. Nothing could be released to him, especially since it fell under the scope of his command.

"Mars," Kipper stood up, pacing around the side of his desk, scattering a few papers. "You've already caused quite a few problems here. Let me look at this-" he pulled a file, opening it up to reveal that it was her own sheet. "Been on three tours before this. Received accolades for bravery. ‘One of the best medics.’ But here we are and I'm wondering, how someone of your standing, received such accolades with an attitude like yours."

"Sir, such accolades were given to me because I proved myself as a soldier in the field," she didn't like where this was going. He was prodding her, trying to test the ground to see where she stood. He was insinuating that she might have paid her way up there, quid pro quo for promotions. After all, she was 26 and a Staff Sergeant, which was quite an accomplishment. "But to round back to the topic at hand, I assure you that this will be handled accordingly. But until the proper channels have been alerted and the report is released, I am afraid our conversation ends here."

"Our conversation ends when I say it does, Staff Sergeant," Kipper snapped furiously, drawing a single piece of paper. Mars remained at attention, swallowing hard as she wondered what other remarks he had for her. She'd heard things about him too, but she assumed that he wouldn't be as stupid as to make a direct threat toward the battalion's assigned SHARP NCO. "Just a few weeks ago, you defied orders to remain behind the firing line."

Her heart fluttered, stomach twisting as if he'd planted a knife there. She had been trying to force down those memories. "Yes sir, I did disobey direct orders. However, I did so because a soldier was stranded before us and appeared to be injured. As a medic I could not leave him. As a soldier, our own creed tells us - 'I will never leave a fallen comrade.' I shall take my punishment however you deem fit, but I did presume that having Specialist Jones die in my arms was severe enough. Especially considering it was your set of orders that sent us down that road before it was properly vetted."

That had been a mistake. She'd questioned his leadership. Her, a 26 year old Staff Sergeant, had questioned the Colonel who had decades of experience under his belt. "I'm sorry, but did I hear you correctly, Sergeant Mars? Are you accusing me of sending soldiers to their death."

"There was no accusation, sir. I am simply stating that it was on your set of orders that soldiers died. That is a fact." Fuck, her mouth betrayed her again. But this relationship, this lack of cohesion bothered her. On her other deployments, officers had always been more willing to heed the words of their NCOs. Willing to take the word of someone who was out in the field often, whereas a high up officer like the Colonel was often in his office, sitting on his ass in a cushy chair. He didn't know. He only read reports. Now, he had the gall to question her? To try and circumvent protocol because he wanted the details on a pending sexual assault investigation? No. Mars knew her position and she knew her regulations. She was right. Only, she was being glib to top that off.

"Mars. You're going to learn how to address your superiors properly. Acting like this could be career ruining. And for someone with so much promise-" 

She fell away.

_"What did you do to her?"_

The voice jolted her awake, the metallic ring of a human voice being translated through a modulator. Had she more of her wits about her, Emma might've shivered by the insistency and the deep, baritone husk that echoed through the room. Instead, she sagged in her seat, glancing over at the machine she was still attached to, paling at how much blood they'd allowed to be drawn this time. 

"I-if it weren't for me. They'd both be dead," Pershing stammered. He had a fat lip from where Emma had headbutted him. The thought of doing that made her smile stupidly.

Silver glinted under the sickly glow of medicinal lights. More silver than she remembered, but her brain was in a fog, so Emma didn't really get a good view of what was going on until the hunter appeared right in front of her. Swaying slightly, she still managed to cock a grin at him. "Hey, you're shinier than I remember," she slurred, as if she were drunk off her ass.

He ripped the machine's probe off of her arm, carefully rolling the sleeve back down. She didn't really believe he was there, in his brilliant new armor, stooping over her. Her head was still spinning, eyes unable to fixate clearly as she saw multiple helmets twirl around before her. Gloved hands pressed to the side of her face, steadying her slightly. "Can you walk?"

Emma just giggled. "You have four heads. I can try but-" She'd try. Mind over matter. The body might think itself weak, but if you tried hard enough, then maybe you could will away your weakness. Pushing herself up, her jello arms gave out and she sagged forward like a limp noodle. Her collar banged into the hunter's armor and she knew it'd hurt later, but she couldn't really feel it now. "Just..." her head lolled as she glanced toward where Grogu was. "Take the child. _Please_. They probably won't hunt him if I remain. They take most of the blood from me anyways."

"No."

She snorted, albeit irritably, as he was wasting time. "What're you going to do? Carry me and fight your way out at the same time?" she challenged.

No answer.

Oh God, she hoped he wasn't going to do that. But he did. Utilizing his cloak and the strap of the rifle that was shouldered, he secured her on his back more tightly than he had back on Arvala-7. But part of her thought of the Soldier's Creed again and the warrior's insistency not to leave her behind. Why? Her brow pressed against a silver pauldron. Beskar, right? That's what Kuiil had called his armor when they were speaking to the Jawas. The US Army needed to get beskar. Seemed kind of indestructible.

He used the pram to the side and put the baby inside, drawing them back into a storage room. It was difficult to see what was going on, especially as he moved so quickly. Her head spun, vision blurring, but the manner he'd trussed her up, she wasn't whipping around too badly. She caught snippets in between, the loud din of gunshots going off, the smell of the blasterfire, the smell of the warrior that carried her - leather and a bit of perspiration. She was so weak. How many pints had been drawn this time? Why had they needed so much?

"Sorry, I must be heavy," she grumbled self consciously.

Outside. They were outside now. 

"If you truly care about the woman and child, you would put them in the speeder, and discuss terms," a new voice entreated, calm and steady, but not on their side. Emma blinked, glancing up long enough to see a dark skinned man talking to her savior. 

"How do I know that I can trust you?" His voice hummed against her chest, deep and articulate. He sounded more human when she was this close to him.

"You can't," Emma whispered, hoping her voice wasn't too weak and tinny. "He's going to kill you." The Force quavered and she knew it to be true. They were not going to let the Mandalorian walk after what he had done, to also include killing several Guild members. 

"I'm your only hope," the man countered, having not heard her.

"Shooters on the house at 7'o clock, preparing to snipe you," words rolled out of her mouth, the knowledge she possessed important for their survival. "Bide time. Reinforcements. Reinforcements-" her voice began to garble, dying on the back of her throat as she sagged forward her exhaustion. Trying to wield the Force to help him had stolen the remnants of energy she clung to.

 _"You have done well, padawan. Resist not, for you are safe,"_ the sage voice of the mysterious Jedi told her.

 _"Did we make it? Or did I die?"_ Emma countered in the dream space, glancing around, touching some of the refracting dust particles with her hand.

 _"The Mandalorian had extracted you and the child safely,"_ he confirmed.

 _"Mandalorian,"_ she repeated forlornly. _"Why did he save us?"_

 _"A question you shall have to ask him for yourself. I do not deign to know every being's will,_ " the master answered.

_"What now?"_

_"We continue training until the next benchmark. Here-"_ he stepped forward and offered her a cylindrical silver object. Even if she was not a huge Star Wars fan, she did know what it was. Her thumb traced along the grooved metal, before finding the button. A blade of light hummed out, throwing shades of gold reminding her of the color of a sunflower's petals. _"Our lessons will now turn toward the saber. The preferred weapon of the Jedi."_

_"Is that what I am? I am to become a Jedi? Should I try and reach out to the Order now that we're free?"_

_"One question at a time, padawan,"_ the master insisted sternly. _"And to answer two, what you are has yet to be decided. But... the Order exists no longer."_

 _"Oh."_ Then who was he?

Emma didn't wake up again during the fight. When she woke up, she was laying down on a cot-like bed, stowed in a bunk area, and wrapped in blankets. Sitting up, she rubbed her lower back, and stretched out like a cat. Part of her was hoping that this was all just a bad dream, but as she knelt on the cot to reach for the door, she saw the similar glowing control buttons that had never been used on Earth. Her mind reeled, trying to recall what her master had told her. The Mandalorian had freed them. 

Now, she expected that she was back on his ship. Her master did not have answers for her. She had to ask the Mandalorian herself. Pushing the button for the door, she climbed out of the bunk and glanced around the hull. Dismay prompted her the second she laid eyes on the freezing machine, recalling duly how she'd stepped into it without knowing what it did. Then he'd turned her into a popsicle. Right. That had been a thing.

Turning toward the ladder, she climbed up toward where she'd seen him disappear once before. Another set of doors waited, which she was able to open with a puff. Three red leather seats were situated around a dash covered with different colored buttons, levers, and meters. The back of the Mandalorian's helmet glinted against the starlight of the sky outside the cockpit's windows. Sitting on his lap, was Grogu, who was actually rather taken with the man. 

He turned to look at her, silent and unreadable. His chestplate was new, replacing the red steel that had been destroyed by the mud rhino. In fact, so were his vambraces and the pieces on his legs. The Mandalorian had a full set of beskar now, an entire matching ensemble, and Emma thought it suited him rather well. 

Grogu noticed her arrival immediately, gurgling and taking his hands off the controls that the Mandalorian was trying to wrestle him with. "You're-" he paused to remove the child's plying hands. He was astonishingly gentle. "-awake."

"Yes," Emma agreed. "How long was I out?"

"Four standard days."

"Standard?" She didn't press the subject, taking a seat in the chair that flanked his right. On the wall beside her were over a dozen flowing buttons, some white, others orange, and a few red. She kind of wanted to press some of them, but still felt the heat of the Mandalorian's gaze. "Why did you save us?" she went right for the kill, deciding not to dart around the subject.

"Because it was the right thing to do."

Emma's brows rose before pinching together slightly. "But you're a bounty hunter. Bringing us in was just doing your job."

"It wasn't. Not after the both of you helped me on Arvala-7," he argued quietly. 

"Uh," she paused to look out the window, amazed by the view of the stars, the way the darkness and light fell over them, the planet they now skimmed by. She'd never witnessed anything like it. Until now, she'd only traveled in space in rooms without windows. Perhaps she looked a bit stupid, ogling the space around then like a child. It was so beautiful. "Sorry, I've never been... in space like this. Back on Earth only astronauts went out into orbit, but traveling like this wasn't really possible. Only robots were capable of it."

"You're really not from here?"

"I didn't lie to you," Emma retorted, crinkling her nose. "I'm from Earth in the Milky Way galaxy. I don't even know where 'here' is. The Empire came to earth and took me. Said something about having to find wormholes in order to even accomplish that sort of feat."

"I've heard rumors of that," the Mandalorian admitted. "But I didn't believe anyone would be crazy enough to attempt a jump through a wormhole."

"Well, this officer called Moff Gideon certainly was crazy enough."

He stiffened, turning in his chair even more to get a better look at her. "Moff Gideon?"

"Yes, that's how he introduced himself to me before I was placed into Imperial custody. Real charmer," Emma drawled sarcastically.

"He was supposedly executed for his war crimes a few years ago."

"Somebody really messed up then."

Silence again. Though Emma didn't quite mind as much as her eyes went back out the window and amongst the stars. 

"What're we doing now? I presume you forsook your Guild in order to rescue us," she didn't look back at him, just talking openly instead. "I know the likeliness of me going back to Earth are like... nada."

"We're going to lay low for a while. Stay on a backwater planet for a couple months and hope to coast out any interest we've garnered," the Mandalorian elaborated. It was nice that he actually seemed to have a plan this time, but she suspected that once again he had acted on impulse rather than logic. Despite that being stupid, Emma thought it was admirable. 

"Backwater? Like mostly water or-"

He chuckled. It was the first time that she'd heard him laugh since meeting him. "It means a remote planet with little industry. There would be little reason for anyone to go there unless they're local," he elaborated. 

"Sorry, interstellar virgin over here. I'd only been to Earth before all this madness," Emma chirped. "You're going to have to bear with all my ignorant questions."

"They're not ignorant."

"They are," Emma snorted. "But I suppose a fair trade can put be in order. You can ask me anything about Earth and I'll try to answer you to my best ability."

He chewed on her offer for a few minutes, Grogu plying for the controls again while the Mandalorian sat there in contemplation. Roused as the baby jerked the ship, he sat back and turned away to address her again. "You were a soldier."

"Not quite a question, but yes. I served in the United States Army as a combat medic. I was a Staff Sergeant before my dismissal," Emma answered easily. "Although, I don't recall telling you I was a soldier. Only that I was a medic."

"I assumed you were a soldier by some of your mannerisms," he informed her, taking her aback slightly. The Mandalorian was more perceptive than she had originally anticipated. "And the United States?"

"My country of origin. The best country of course."

"Why were you dismissed from the army?"

Emma leaned in the seat, slouching slightly. "Got on the wrong side of a powerful officer. Was just trying to do my job and got reamed out for it, because I wasn't doing him any favors. Despite the fact that I was following protocol, it seems that rank outstrips integrity if you know the right people," hoping to shift the subject, she countered on him. "You never told me your name, you know. I've figured by now your helmet also seems to be part of your religion."

"You can call me Mando."

"As in Mandalorian? That's not much of a name," but now she was being ungrateful. The mysterious man turned away from her, resigning to fiddling with his ship. "Fine. Mando is better than nothing."

They coasted through space in another fit of quiet. Her head lolled slightly against the seat, drinking in the view, finding a relative peace in how pretty it all was. Mind wandering amongst the stars, she thought back to Earth and was curious as to what had happened after she had left. A good amount of people had definitely seen that gigantic ship over the entire city. How was earth handling the knowledge that aliens were definitely real? Most probably didn't know that it was the Empire.

A hand tugged on her pants, drawing her eyes down to Grogu, he reached up at her imploringly. Pulling her hands down from where she had propped them behind her neck, she scooped him up and put him on her lap. "Oh, you're tired aren't you?" she smiled, Mando turned away from them and focused on driving. "Why don't you go to sleep? There's nothing to worry about now."

He gripped a handful of her hair and pulled. Not too hard, but enough that she knew what he wanted. A song. Wasn't as if there was a galactic radio. How these muppets hadn't figured that out, she didn't know, but she nodded and began standing up. 

"I'm going to go put him down-"

"Are you going to sing?"

Emma paused, just about to stand when Mando's helmet tilted back toward her slightly, the edge of his visor peering at her. She'd only sang to the child back on Arvala-7 whilst in his company, which meant that he must have overheard her singing _Drops of Jupiter._ Her mouth was incredibly dry now and she was suddenly aware of how hot her face was growing. Singing to the baby was easy, because he was a baby, but knowing that someone else had been listening made her incredibly self conscious.

"Ah yeah, I was going to," her voice was pitifully hoarse. "I'm not going to bother you with my warbling, but it does seem to help him sleep."

"It's fine."

Fine? What did that mean? "Are you sure? I'm not like... the best singer. I can go down below."

"I didn't think you were that bad."

Now her face was on fire. He _had_ heard her on Arvala-7. "Well then, there better be no wry remarks afterward then. I did warn you," she tried to collect her pride, but oh heavens, she was suddenly much more nervous. Excusing herself now would make her look like a coward and Emma wasn't the type to tuck her tail between her legs. What was she even going to sing now? 

_"I'm fifteen for a moment_

_Caught in between ten and twenty_

_And I'm just dreaming_

_Counting the ways to where you are_

_I'm twenty-two for a moment_

_And she feels better than ever_

_And we're on fire_

_Making our way back from Mars_

_Fifteen, there's still time for you_

_Time to buy and time to lose_

_Fifteen, there's never a wish better than this_

_When you only got a hundred years to live-"_

A soft, gentle song about life. Her confidence buffered as she got into the chorus a second time. Too bad there was no piano or kit, instead her voice pinged off the steel echo chamber that she sat in. Keeping her head down, she crooned to Grogu, and did her best to ignore the fact that there was another audience member. Perhaps because it was so quiet in the ship that he'd wanted to listen. C'mon, no radio? She would have gone slightly mad too just listening to her own breathing. 

_"Hey fifteen, there's never a wish better than this_

_When you only got a hundred years to live."_

Grogu had fallen asleep, a sigh parting her mouth as she concluded the song and snuck a glance over at Mando. She was waiting for the rebuff, but it never came. Instead, he sat forward, and part of her wondered if she'd been too quiet to hear. No. This place was so terribly silent that she could have whispered it and he would have heard. Seizing his reticence as an opportunity, she pushed herself to her feet and left the cockpit. 

Down below, she set Grogu in his carriage, the heat having not faded from her cheeks at this point. Her heart burned, the loud thumping of it audible in her ears. Was it funny that she was thinking of Game of Thrones at this moment and how the Hound had asked Sansa to sing for him? Not quite... the same situation, but she did think of it. Mando was faceless in his own manner. But her original suspicion that he was more empathetic than he preferred to let on was growing again. 

He hadn't left them. She didn't know what was going to happen now. A semblance of a plan was formed, but she knew that it was going to mostly be candid. But... at least they weren't alone without a soul that wasn't routing for them. Mando wanted them safe and that was enough for her for now. At least, until she could figure out what she was going to do about there being no Jedi Order. She had rationalized that if she escaped the Empire, she'd seek them out for salvation. Instead, she was hopelessly unaware of the state of this galaxy. She'd need to ask Mando later, but for now she was trying to still her beating heart. 

He was cordial. Emma didn't know what else to expect, but he wasn't that rude. Nor was he incredibly talkative, but she just assumed it was because he wasn't used to having company. The days leading up to their destination, she applied him with questions, which he was patient enough to answer briefly. They were in the Outer Rim territories, the outer cusp of the enormous galaxy. The New Republic was currently in control of the state of the galaxy, however Imperial remnants did exist, like the ones that she had been held hostage by. Yet, she thought of the rather impressive ship they had, and was curious as to how the ship the size of a city was considered remnant.

He let her and the child sleep in the bunk. Given the size of the ship, Emma quickly realized that she was sleeping in his bed and he'd been forced to take refuge in the cockpit. Feeling a bit guilty about that, Emma did offer to trade spaces with him so he could get some sleep in a bed, but he declined. Slightly annoyed with his stubbornness, Emma didn't spurn his kindness. But there was something incredibly intimate about sleeping in another person's bed, especially since most of his spare clothing was stashed in the compartments in the bunk. 

Blasterfire, leather, gun oil, and the clean scent of soap - a pine like aroma - clung to the blankets and thin bedroll. Strangely, she was rather comforted by the smell, reminded duly of their escape from Nevarro when she'd been slumped against his back. 

Emma just pretended that these were barracks and Mando was a fellow soldier. It was easier to garner distance that way and respect boundaries. But she was in his home and he'd turned his back on his way of life to rescue her and the child. Because there were few things to do on the ship, she thought back to that often. Many might've thought him cold, brisk, and emotionless, but Emma was more intuitive than that. Just as there were soldiers who deflected their feelings to be able to take a step back from reality, she saw the same training in Mando. Perhaps not US Army training, but the Mandalorians were clearly a warrior people. 

She'd walked in on him with Grogu while he was doing push ups against the cockpit floor. A thought flickered in the back of her mind, recalling the tanned skin of his forearm, curious as to what the man beneath the beskar looked like. It was highly doubtful she'd ever find out, but she expected the rest of him was honed and muscular. While he was taller than her (which was not a great accomplishment) he was lean rather than broad. She'd seen him in action, his movements indicative of years of training and experience. Only a few times before had she witnessed such prowess in action and the people those actions belonged to? Navy SEALs. 

"What about that one?" Private Harris leaned toward her. They were sitting on the bannister on their day off, watching as the sect of SEALs did their morning training. This had been when Emma had been a Private First Class, only 19 years old. Harris was a slender, doe eyed girl, her dark brown hair shorn short.

"Hmmm," Emma hummed, pursing her lips as she looked out amongst them. They were all rather delicious looking, their uniforms straining against well formed muscles, the sweat of the desert suctioning it to their skin. "That one." She gestured out to the largest man, burly and bear-like. He had a thick beard, which seemed to be allowed amongst the SEALs whereas it wasn't in the Army. His skin was weathered from the sun, a long straight nose, and glittering black eyes. 

Harris made a face. "Really?" she asked incredulously. "He's got to be... like late 30s."

"So?" Emma laughed to her friend's chagrin. "He's clearly the most impressive one there. The others don't even want to fight him."

"He's also three times your size."

"I know," Emma grinned. 

"You have a death wish," Harris snorted, carefully pointing out one of the younger SEALs with sandy blonde hair. His face was clean shaven, blue eyes winking and as he took notice of them. "He's cute."

"Ooh, Captain America? Sure. I guess," Emma nodded. 

"Oh no," Harris hissed. "We should go, their training looks like it's about to end."

"What? You don't want to talk to Mr. Chris Evans? You know, we are allowed to talk to other service members," Emma snickered haughtily, elbowing Harris. Her friend was right, they were finishing up their sparring and the blonde SEAL had turned back to a few of his comrades to speak quietly.

"Mars! Stop it-" Harris hissed, but Emma grabbed her arm and twisted it to keep her from running away. "We'll get in trouble. Fraternization."

"For talking? No, we won't," Emma assured her, the SEALs breaking their formation, a few peeling off to approach them. "You know your Navy ranks?"

"No! Mars c'mon!"

But she didn't, enjoying her fellow medic's panic as the handsome SEALs trotted up to them. Standing up, Emma wrenched Harris to her feet, the soldier continuing to squirm up until they were greeted. "Morning, soldiers," the blonde hummed in a friendly tone, his brilliant sapphire eyes sliding from Harris and settling on Mars. 

"Good morning, petty officer," Emma greeted, gently moving to at ease to give them the proper respect they deserved. "Sorry if we bothered you. My fellow soldier and I were curious about the different training that your team conducted. Since it's our day off, we decided to stay and watch."

"No harm in being curious," the blonde agreed. She could see the sweat rolling down his golden skin, his hands opening as he glanced back at the other young SEAL beside him. "At ease, soldier. There's no need to be so formal. What company are you with?"

Harris had lost her voice completely, but Emma was unruffled. Relaxing her shoulders, she cupped her hands together in front of her, refusing to completely forsake a polite stance. "We're attached to the 75th Regiment."

"Oh, the Rangers?" he inquired lightly. "The both of you seem a bit young to be attached to such a group."

"Mars has already been deployed once before," Harris informed him.

"Just to Kuwait," Mars corrected kindly. "Yes, we're among the lower enlisted with the medical team."

"Interesting. And you said you're off today?"

Emma snapped back to reality, forgetting the exchange she'd had as a teenager with the SEALs. That deployment had been a bit more redeeming in more than one way. Perhaps because she'd gotten a better look at the petty officer than she had been anticipating. Of course, he wasn't the type she went for, but she wasn't about to turn down an attractive chance with a man who wasn't in the army. She was unlikely to bump into the SEAL again and so Emma'd used that to her advantage. 

Odd that she thought back to those decent memories now. Mando certainly wasn't the blonde SEAL, but perhaps this situation reminded her now of lighter times. Before her deployments became harder as she gained more responsibility with her promotions. 

"Mars."

Lifting her head, she glanced at Mando who had come down from the cockpit. 

"We're about to make landfall on Sorgan. We need to discuss intel."

Cocking her head, she gave him a nod, but waited for him to continue. 

"Keep the information that you're not from this galaxy, confidential. It'll only draw attention," Mando said stoutly. 

"Got a cover for me then?"

"Yes. You're from Theed, Naboo."

"Alright. I'll be as brief as possible. I know how to dart around subjects," Emma agreed, repeating the place of her origin in her head a few times over. "And I expect, as far as anyone else knows, I'm just a medic working with you. Not too far from the truth."

"That will suffice." He stepped by, trotting down the hull and toward the storage area. Opening the door, a dock slid out and revealed the first green planet that Emma had seen since arriving. She must've made some sort of face, because Mando's visor tilted toward her and he stared for a lingering moment. "Coming?"

Jumping to her feet, she adjusted her scarves and trailed after him. Outside there were trees, evergreen branches sagging beneath fronds of peaty moss tendrils - almost like Spanish moss. The ground was damp beneath her boots, sinking slightly, but not enough that she squelched along. Actually, the swampy ground reminded her of a few places she'd hiked back home in southern Mass. But the moss on the trees was similar to Savannah, Georgia. Bouncing on her heels, Emma couldn't help but smile as the sun glimmered down on the landscape, warming the verdant hues and catching a few swamp flowers growing in thick patches of ferns and grass.

This sun wasn't going to blister her skin with a sunburn. Her fingers tugged down the scarves a bit more, sitting against her collar, her hair fluffing up around her face. The humidity didn't bother her, she was so accustomed to it from living by the ocean, that the moisture on the air made her skin sing. So much better than Arvala-7. She already liked it here.

Bugs chirped in the distance, a few birds trilling as they set along a path and left the Razor Crest hidden in the woad. Flanking Mando, she spared him a glance in between her drinking in the landscape, noticing that he was still armed to the teeth. Why wouldn't he be? Apparently his weapons were his religion. Still, she didn't quite believe that they'd be needing the full arsenal on this planet. 

Grogu cooed in his pram, waving excitedly toward some butterflies that were drifting by, their iridescent winks glittering in the sunlight. Even Emma was entranced momentarily, watching the critter drift by. 

Mando seemed to have an idea of where they were going, leading down an infrequently traveled path that was overgrown with fronds of spider grass and moss. A small town broke out on the horizon, between a break in the treeline, the buildings dome shaped and reminding her of yurts made of steel. Dull colors were common amongst this galaxy, at least, from what she had experienced thus far. 

The largest building amongst the village was where they approached. Until this point, Emma hadn't quite realized that Mandalorians might not be a dime a dozen. Part of her expected that they were just scattered amongst the galaxy. It was easy not to realize how sparse the galaxy was, especially given how quickly they could travel between planets. But as they entered the common house, the varying faces of the inhabitants told her that Mando was, in fact, not a dime a dozen.

Eyes trailed after his glinting beskar, which still gleamed in the dim light of the room. Across the space, there was a large grill with foreign vegetables and meat sizzling. A bar was located in the center of the common house, glowing blue containers filled with what she assumed was alcohol. Last, she noticed a feline, but its face was weird. She narrowed her gaze, staring at the dots that it had for eyes. It was a cat. But not a normal cat. She sort of wanted it.

Following Mando to the bar, he leaned against the counter, his lean physique straining the sleeves of his underclothing for a brief moment. Emma turned her eyes away, smiling at the proprietor. 

"What can I get you?" the woman inquired, slipping her gaze between the two of them, eventually deciding that she'd settle on the face she could see; Emma. 

"Some bone broth for the little one," Emma requested. 

"Do either of you want anything?"

Emma tilted her head toward Mando, who shook his head. "We're fine for now." She was still curious about the alcohol, but she wasn't going to volunteer Mando's coin. The bartender departed for a moment, her eyes scanning the crowd again, picking out the exits naturally. "What's the plan?"

Mando's visor was tilted in the direction of a woman across the establishment. She was tall, broad, and impressive. Emma contemplated whether the woman's arms were bigger than Mando's, but couldn't tell from the distance. Her dark hair was parted to the side, eyes just as inky. Her jaw set, observing that Mando was watching her. You didn't get that athletic from picking daisies. Emma knew that.

"Who's that?" Mando asked the bartender when she returned.

Glancing out at the woman in green, she gave a slight, pitiful shrug of her shoulders. "She'd been patronizing the common house for a week," was all she was willing to betray, but she knew more. 

Mando reached into his pocket, but Emma leaned forward on the counter, kicking her feet out slightly as she flashed a wide smile at the woman. "Really? You are certain you cannot tell us more?" Her words were convincing, humming with the whispers of the Force, in tandem with Emma's inviting countenance, swayed the proprietor.

"Well..." the woman fiddled disconcertingly. "She doesn't look like a log runner. I'll be right back with the broth."

Disappearing out of view, Mando looked toward her. "Did you do something?"

"Use a bit of persuasion?" she shrugged nonchalantly, excited that the mind trick had worked. "It doesn't work on everyone. Wouldn't work on you. You're too guarded."

Rather than disagree with her, he observed as the impressive woman left. "Stay here," pausing, he pinned a hard look at her. "Stay."

"I'm not a dog," Emma sniffed. "Heard you the first time." Honestly, she sort of liked the atmosphere in the common house, so relaxing in here for a bit rather than tromping outside after a fight was the preferred scenario. Mando could handle himself. The server returned with the broth, Grogu eagerly accepting the piping food. Pausing to make certain it wouldn't scald the baby's mouth, Emma allowed him to take it without much more fussing. 

Couple months here and they'd move on again. How many green planets were there? Apparently, there were a lot of planets, so perhaps a good portion of them were green. Doting half of her attention on the child, she dwelled in her thoughts, until a shadow fell slightly over her shoulder. Glancing back, she took notice of a man in plain, linen and woolen clothing, in hues of grey, brown, and dark blue. There was nothing overly remarkable about him aside from the friendliness on his modest face.

"Are you here with the Mandalorian?" he asked.

"Why? Who's asking?" Emma asked evenly.

"My name is Jud, I live in a village nearby," he introduced, canting into the bar slightly as she turned around to give him her full attention. "How about a drink, for the Mandalorian's pretty companion?"

"If you're buying," Emma smiled, blinking her eyes a few times. Ah yeah, she was hoping to try the blue liquid. At least now she didn't have to worry about spending Mando's coin. Relaxing her body language, she tried to make herself as inviting as possible. This planet was backwater, it was unlikely this man was anything other than curious.

"Yaide, two spotchkas over here," Jud called, addressing the proprietor. 

"Coming up," she hummed, using a tap to pour two glasses of the glowing sky blue liquid. Passing the tankards, Emma caught it before it could slosh over the edge. 

Lifting it, she gave a quick sniff, the fizz tickling her nose. Taking a sip, the flavor reminded her of beer, but it wasn't hoppy. Instead, the warm buzz in tandem with the nutty depth hinted at an ale. However, given that it wasn't made from hops, she didn't quite understand how the savory beverage had that reminiscent taste. Either way, Emma wasn't displeased. 

"So the Mandalorian," Jud cleared his throat, his eyes fastened to her. "Is he looking for work?"

"Oh, I can't really speak for him," Emma retorted, taking another mouthful of the spotchka. "But, I think we're just here for a little while. Passing through."

"Then you'll be here for some time? My village does have some work if your companion is looking for it," Jud continued lightly. "You ever been to Sorgan before? The countryside is beautiful and untouched. Perhaps you'd be interested in exploring while you're here."

He's trying to convince me to turn Mando onto this mission, Emma gleaned silently. "Ah, you know a true wanderer's heart, don't you? I've never been to Sorgan before, but the landscape does intrigue me. And with the guidance of a native who knows where all the best features are?" She humored him, leaning into his conversation, wondering if he'd betray more about what he wanted to employ Mando for.

A rabbit trailing toward the snare, Jud mirrored her body language, encouraged by her receptive behavior. Bat her lashes a few more times, see if he turned into a puddle. "I wouldn't mind showing you, but that's only if you have the time. If you're just passing through-"

She felt his presence before she saw him, coming up stealthily behind her. No shadow fell over her, but Jud's words and confidence died on the back of his throat. He stared over her shoulder, drawing his drink closer to him, as Mando returned. Craning her head up, she smiled at the Mandalorian, bemused by the intimidating tilt of his helmet. 

"Do you need something?" Mando asked Jud harshly, his voice deep and dark as it was translated through the metallic ring of the helmet's modulation. His voice was very nearly in her ear, the poignancy tracing cool shivers down her spine. Standing up straight, rather than lean on the bar, she bumped back into him, having not quite expected him to have drawn up so close behind her. 

Jud shook his head and fled quickly.

Raising her brows as she stepped away from him, her lips cocked in a wry smirk. "What was that for? He seemed nice."

Mando observed the drink in her hand. "I thought I told you not to draw attention to yourself."

"I didn't. He approached me," Emma retorted calmly. "He was actually asking about you."

The tight line of rigidity in his shoulders fell away. Why was he so on guard? Had something happened with the woman in green? But she caught the visage of the woman sitting back in the bar, a little scuffed up, but smiling toward them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hello to the beginning of Jealous Din!


	7. Chapter 7

_"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched - they must be felt with the heart."_

* * *

They sat with the rebel soldier that he'd scuffled with outside the common house. His mind flickering slightly to the brief exchange with the Sorgan native. Emma was unarmed, as he hadn't thought there would be anything on Sorgan that might pose a danger to her or the baby. However, when he entered the tavern and noticed the inviting lean between her and the man, he'd felt an unpleasant burning in his chest. Of course the young woman wouldn't go unnoticed. Her hair was a brilliant white, like freshly fallen snow. Despite the modesty of her clothing, her exotic features gleamed brightly amongst the dull tones surrounding them. In the Razor Crest he'd grown accustomed to see her countenance, the starkness of her hair offset by the silver of the ship and the dim lighting of interstellar travel.

But they weren't there to make friends, nor was he keen on the man's eyes roaming his newest companion. To top it all off, the little medic had managed to finagle a drink out of the stranger. 

"Name's Carasynthia Dune," the dark haired woman introduced with a cheeky grin. Her eyes swept over toward her petite counterpart, polar in appearance in every way. 

Emma tilted her head to the side, tumbles of pale hair scattering. "Guessing you two had a cordial conversation round back," she assumed perceptively.

"Of a sort," Dune agreed, eyes turning back toward him for a brief moment. "Didn't think that Mandalorians traveled with outsiders very often."

"I'm a medic. Perhaps you figured from that fight that he tends to jump into a fight and ask questions later," Emma covered quickly and much to his dismay. She'd not done much healing during their time together, though part of that was due to his refusal to let her to.

Dune snorted. "What's your name?"

"You can call me Emma, Doc, whatever tickles your fancy. I'm not picky."

"Like this one," Dune told him, before nodding toward the proprietor as she brought a glass of spotchka over. 

"What is a soldier doing here on Sorgan?" he pressed evenly.

Dune took an impressive gulp of the beer before setting it down, wiping her mouth with the back of her gloved hand. "Ah you know, just where the winds brought me. I was a Rebel Alliance Shock trooper, fought on Endor mopping up ex-Imperial warlords. But the New Republic wasn't too keen on telling the galaxy that there's still Imps lurking around. They started sending us in without reinforcements."

Emma shifted in her seat, leaning toward Dune with intrigue.

"When we cleaned up the Imps, that's when the politics started. My work turned into policing, not being a soldier. They wanted me to protect delegates and suppress riots. I didn't sign up for that," Dune grimaced, lifting her spotchka again.

"And how did you end here?" Din plied. 

"Got an early retirement," she hummed, lifting her dark eyes to pin him. "You came at me so hard I figured you had a bounty on my head. But... there might be a second round unless one of us moves on. I was here first."

Din turned to Emma and the child, lobbing a tight smile, though neither could see him. "Looks like this planet is taken already."

Emma's calm expression flickered, a slight bit of disappointment lining her shoulders as she gave him a plaintive look. "Whole planet isn't big enough for the four of us?" she joked weakly, but didn't pursue the subject any longer. 

They remained at the bar a bit longer, conversing with Cara Dune until the sun had set. It was nice to find a kindred soul in the galaxy, another who'd been dealt a shitty hand and could relate to him. But having the four, all of which likely had bounties, was a dangerous prospect. His crew needed to move on because Dune had gotten there first. He thought duly to when they'd stepped off the Crest and Emma and the child had been delighted by the planet. There wasn't anything special about it, in fact it was kind of humid and sticky. With night, swarms of nocturnal insects began to swarm out in search of blood. 

Din was protected by the coverage of his clothing and armor, but beside him, his petite companion was swatting futilely at the mosquitoes. "Little buggers," he heard her grumble beneath her breath, catching a large one between her palms in a loud clap. "Got ya sucker." She flicked the smushed corpse off her palm.

He didn't mind her. Now admitting this silently, was quite an accomplishment. Din Djarin did not get along with most people. However, in the sub fortnight that he'd been with Emma, she'd been professional and cordial, with the addition of some unexpected sympathy. She wasn't from this galaxy and so she had a lot of questions, but she learned quickly and was able to glean things from what he had told her. Being a soldier, she knew how to conduct herself in small living quarters and had also offered to take a few nights up in the chair in the cockpit to allow him to get some sleep in a bed. However, he hadn't accepted her offer. 

Rather, as confident and mellow as the woman could be, he still saw the petite and small thing that she was. It had been worse on Nevarro. The beskar he'd earned felt like bloody money. This was the first time in his bounty hunting that he'd ever felt that way. Between her and the child, he'd seen innocent faces, slid over like fodder to the Empire. After his armor had been forged, Din put it on and felt surprisingly hollow. This armor had been earned not by him. He would have never made it off of Arvala-7 if not for the intervention of his charges. Wearing it, he felt almost as if he'd stolen it. 

Bursting into the lab, watching as a machine drew blood from Emma, her slender form slumped over and so pale - so terribly pale - he'd nearly shot the doctor right in the face as his wrath threatened to overwhelm him. But then she'd seen him, joked about his armor, and then insisted he take the child and run. A person like that didn't deserve to be left behind. He couldn't do it. Even if carrying her extra 100lbs hindered him, he'd have done it the same way a million times over.

Now, they approached the Razor Crest, his mind trailing through the memories as Emma stood beside him, healthy and unperturbed by what had happened on Nevarro. He wondered what else the Empire remnants had done to her and the child. They'd gone to far lengths to acquire her from another galaxy, risking traveling through wormholes to scoop her up from Earth. What was it about her that they wanted so desperately? It had to deal with the magic in her, but Emma had not spoken to much of that and he hadn't pried. But perhaps, he would eventually.

"Are we going to leave right away?" she asked, pausing by the open gangplank leading into the hull of the ship.

"No, there are a few things that I need to work on," he informed her, aware that some of the ship had sustained damage before their hasty departure from Nevarro. "By dawn."

"Alright," the pram followed her into the ship, the young woman ducking inside without another word. 

Inspecting the outside of his ship, he set up a floodlight before acquiring a few of his tools inside. Emma was settled on the edge of his bed, the child sitting on her lap, as she tried to get him to settle down. However, after the variance of the day, the new views, and an actual planet as opposed to the ship - he was raring to go. 

"Oh come now," Emma complained, but she wasn't whiny, simply flabbergasted as the baby gibbered to her. "We'll go to another planet. I bet there will be butterflies and frogs and other strange creatures there that you can attempt to stuff into your mouth."

Din snorted, picking up the last tools he needed before trotting back out to begin repairing some of the deeper lacerations on the side of his ship near the engines. Where were they going? He didn't know, he'd have to look at the map of the Outer Rim again before making his decision. But another thought pressed him as he laid on his back, tightening some bolts. What was his plan with the both of them? He didn't think he'd be able to travel between galaxies to deliver Emma home. She'd mentioned once before that aliens were a conspiracy theory on Earth and that the baby had been the first real alien she had met.

The two were clearly bonded, the baby looking up to her as his mother. She had fallen into that role quite naturally, her patience and light-hearted attitude to be admired. There was a sternness to her at times, one he'd witnessed pinned in his direction. Perhaps that was because she'd been a sergeant. Despite her youth, the woman's amethyst eyes bespoke the years of war she'd encountered. It saddened him that such a pretty, youthful thing had such eyes, but it would seem that other galaxies also endured their own strife. Emma was wizened for her age due to the trials and tribulations she had experienced over her life. 

She was a little less than a decade his junior, which should have created more of an awkward generational gap between them. But she had charisma, where he did not, and even he was enticed like a moth to a flame. Both her appearance and personality naturally drew people in, as she had done in the common house. That'd end up being a problem. On Sorgan, people wouldn't be brazen enough to do more than talk to her, but on other planets they might have the gall to attempt more. After all, she was small. Even if she had been a soldier, it didn't require an immense amount of strength to overwhelm someone who was barely 100lbs soaking wet. He had to be wary. Guilt still bit at him from when he'd left her for some hours with the Imperial remnants. If something happened to her or the kid again -

A soft, lilting voice flowed from out of the ship. He stopped working to listen. He'd been a little bold in asking her to sing for him when she'd first woken up. But Maker, was he glad that she was awake. The baby wasn't willing to go down very often and he knew that it was because his guardian wasn't rocking him to sleep with a song. He'd asked her to stay before realizing how embarrassing that might be for her. It also meant that he'd openly admitted to hearing her back on Arvala-7. 

But the Crest was so quiet. So eerily silent that he had desperately wanted to break it up with noise. And her voice was so sweet. She hadn't done it again, not near him. He'd catch snippets of her doing it when she was below deck, more confident when she knew that he wasn't listening on. But kriff, he wanted to hear more. There was something so soothing about her singing, almost as if it calmed all doubts and worry, taking him back to a simpler and easier time. 

The songs were always unique. He assumed they were from Earth, but the words were always so interesting. Even now, as he laid beneath his ship on the damp ground, he could hear the gentle inflection of her mellow soprano. 

_"And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming_

_Or the moment of truth in your lies_

_When everything feels like the movies_

_Yeah, you bleed just to know, you're alive_

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am-"_

He heard a noise, not her voice, but it made him growl in the back of his throat, irritated that his listening had been interrupted. Pulling himself out from underneath the ship, he glowered in the direction of a light that swayed out of the darkness like a will-o-wisp, attached to a repulsorlift speeder. Clearing his throat, he called to her, "Mars." 

The singing stopped. 

Upon the speeder, he noticed a pair of men. By their attire, he assumed that they were local to Sorgan. However, his eyes settled on the curly haired man that he'd encountered in the common house. He had been the one who bought Emma a drink and was speaking to her excitedly. Din had been irritated enough that he hadn't asked Emma further about the situation. After all, his heart had still been pumping from the fight outside the bar, the idea of nearly getting beat by the rebel soldier weighing on him. The last thing he needed was for the sergeant to get abducted right after.

"Jud?" she stood at the top of the gangplank, holding the almost sleeping child against her hip. 

"See? I told you," the curly haired man hissed to his companion. 

"Yeah, well you also told me you pissed the Mandalorian off by flirting with his girl," the other man grumbled beneath his breath.

"What do you want?" Din demanded, standing in front of the entrance to his ship, blocking most of the view of his companion. He stood erect, shoulders set back; imposing. 

Jud balked again, but his friend did not. "We need your services. We wish to hire you to protect our village against raiders. They keep attacking us and stealing our krill harvest."

He didn't have the time, nor did he believe that the farmers could pay his commission. Shaking his head, he said, "No."

A set of soft soled boots trotted up alongside him, Emma coming down from the ship to stand beside him. Her eyes were bright in the light that the lamp on the repulsorlift cast. "And you've tried defending yourself up until this point?" she inquired.

"There's only so much we can do. We're not soldiers," Jud protested weakly, before turning his attention to Din. "We're willing to pay... Even more than we have right now."

He hadn't intended on budging. Whatever they were going to offer would still be meager and he wasn't willing to bring attention to this planet. But Emma reached out, brushing his arm with her palm. Her touch sent electric shivers up his elbow and down to the tips of his fingers, even though there was a layer of cloth and leather between. Grinding his teeth, he set his visor back toward them. 

"Where is the village?" he asked gruffly.

"Uhm..." Jud's eyes went to Emma and then back to him. "A farm."

"Is it in the middle of nowhere? With enough lodging for the three of us?" he pressed more insistently, acknowledging now that heat had crept up his neck and face. 

"Y-yes."

Din looked down at Emma, whose brows were pressed together. The manicured, thick brows were dark in contrast to her hair, expressive and delicate. Flicking her violet eyes up, she gave him a slight nod. "Very well. Payment in advance."

She didn't like that, frowning at him. But the farmers were naïve and eager to have help. They passed over the bag of credits, which jingled gently in his gloves. 

"Meet us at the nearby village in half an hour," Din instructed, turning away with them, finality in his tone. Once the farmers had trailed off down the road, he addressed his companion. "Collect what supplies we may need. I don't think we'll be out too long. A cropping of raiders shouldn't be too much of an issue."

"I'll see what you have. Where do you store medical equipment?" Rather than fuss with him over taking the money ahead of time, she set her eyes on the mission. Sergeant Mars was addressing him now, setting back into the familiarity of her training as a combat medic. Her voice was clean, punctuated, and hummed with the natural confidence of a leader. 

Stepping back onto the Crest with her, he drew open a few drawers against the left side of the ship's wall on the base deck. Inside was a neat assembly of equipment, though he didn't have any bacta left. Instead, there was gauze, bandages, alcohol, a portable cauterizer, tourniquet, tweezers, nylon thread, and a sterilized needle. 

"Hmm," she hummed, glancing amongst the drawers with dismay.

"What is it?"

"Wish there was a stethoscope and something to measure blood pressure with, like a cuff, but I suppose I shouldn't be ungrateful for what we do have," Emma answered. "Do you have a bag I can pack this in?"

"You're bringing it all?"

"Why wouldn't I? I can't foresee the future. Always pack and pray you won't need it, but have it in case you do," she retorted. "All of this probably weighs less than 20lbs. I used to carry a medkit that was nearly 40 in addition to my armor and water supply."

"You carried that much?" he asked, astonished that an army would make such a petite woman carry that much equipment. She was so small, it was difficult to imagine her carrying more than half her weight. But she had managed to wrench him to his feet back in the mud pit, despite their difference in height. There was more strength in her than he acknowledged.

"Don't sound so surprised," Emma grinned lightly. "I pulled my own weight. You don't become a combat medic off of merit alone. Although, I was the shortest one almost every time we set out."

Din pulled out a leather pack for her, one he hadn't utilized in a decent amount of time. His own excursions were not usually long enough that he couldn't make it back to his ship before needing supplied. Considering that he wore his cloak and Amban rifle on his back, a pack would only get in the way. Waiting patiently, he looked on as Emma swiftly layered the pack and threw it on her back, gripping the straps and tugging them into place with dexterous familiarity. Pausing, she tightened the laces on her boots, tucking them away into the top of the boot before twirling her long hair into a bun. 

"Right. We've still got... 15 minutes to meet them if I counted right," she leveled her gaze on him, speaking truly. They did have about 15 minutes and he still intended on making one more stop. "C'mon. You're late if you're on time."

Din chuckled quietly, his vocoder barely catching it as he sauntered after the young woman, pressing his vambrace to lock up the Crest. Behind them, the drop deck creaked up and closed with a snick. He illuminated the path ahead of them with a torchlight, the pram listing by their right flank, the child having been placed inside. 

The village was lit dimly by the few sources inside the windows of the domed buildings. Most had whickered out for the evening, except for the open door to the cantina. Carving the path, he stepped into the bar and turned his visor to pin it to Dune, who hadn't left just yet. A pressure lined her shoulders, the weariness of where life had brought her until this point. He'd felt it himself. Strange that now it was almost as if a second breath moved him.

He approached, dumping the bag of credits in front of her, a loud chime of the coins drawing her eyes up. "Are you interested in a round two?" he inquired, Emma coming up alongside him, Cara's eyes sliding over to observe the pack and slight change of attitude. 

Chuckling, the broad woman sat back, picking up the small bag to consider him. "With the two of you?" she mused. "Give the Doc a blaster at least. Unless you're keen on losing your medic."

Din had almost forgotten that she didn't have a weapon of her own. 

"I've got an extra-" Cara offered, removing a small pistol from the back of her boot, giving him a questioning glance. "But I'll be needing that back."

Emma accepted the handgun, strapping the small holster to her belt, drawing the weapon. Fingers settling naturally, her index against the side of the barrel, she drew back the slide, cocking the hammer. She rode the slide forward and smiled. "Wonderful. Thought I was gonna have to rely on what little hand to hand combat I know," she retorted glibly, throwing an impudent look up toward him.

"I'm sure you'd be more than a match for the both of us, Doc," Cara jested, eliciting a slightly strangled and miffed look from her petite counterpart.

"Right," she drawled sarcastically. "I hope you don't end up getting hurt, Dune. I've known to have rough hands when treating patients."

The ex-Rebel snorted loudly, but was highly amused with the glib response from the medic. "That true?" she cocked a look at him. 

Thinking back to Arvala-7, he smiled beneath his helmet. "I wouldn't cross her." Not again anyways. She had been slightly unkind when grasping his arm to inspect his wound.

"Five minutes," Emma clucked. "We're late."

The small group departed from the common house, finding the pair of farmers waiting for them in the disclosed location. Settling into the repulsorlift, Emma drew the baby out of his pram to hold him while the air whistled by and they delved deeper into the countryside of Sorgan. Just like when they'd been traveling to find the Jawas, Din found himself naturally looking on as the young woman distracted the child, chasing away passing moths with her hands. 

"So we're hunting raiders for lunch money," Cara deduced after he revealed to her the nature of the task he'd recruited her for. 

"You're in the middle of nowhere. I'd say that's a pretty reasonable deal considering your position," Din argued evenly. "The worst we can expect is a blaster fight. Best case, our presence will deter them. I doubt there's anything living in these trees that a shock trooper could not handle." Truthfully, he hadn't been keen on this either, especially since he'd handed over the bulk of the coin to Cara. It was Emma that had pushed him to help. He was beginning to realize that the woman was more compassionate than he preferred to be. Earth bred kind people, it would seem. The galaxy needed more like that.

Their travels brought them through the evening. Emma dozed with the child in her arms, despite the bucking of the repulsorlift, her head nestled against the babe's, slouching slightly against him. He was also tired, catching a few moments of sleep in between the bumps of their ride, feeling the warmth of Emma as her thigh brushed his and her shoulder pressed gently against his arm. Rather than push her aside, he allowed the proximity, savoring it almost - the trust she had to be able to fall asleep beside him and lean on him. 

Come morning, she roused early, the heat from her touch fleeing when she sat up to admire the sunrise bleating through the moss covered trees. He looked on, still weary and a bit restless, but also enjoying the cast of crimson, gold, and pink as the sun stretched upon the horizon. 

They came on the village just after the sun had finished cresting above the treeline, chasing away the last shifting coral tones. At their approach, the small village stirred excitedly at the approach of strangers. It was unlikely they ever got travelers here, especially some as foreign as an ex-Rebel, a Mandalorian, and a pseudo-Nabooian. Hopping down from the lift, both women - Cara and Emma - stretched in tandem like loth-cats. He pressed his shoulders back, feeling a few quiet cracks as he settled the muscles and rolled his neck.

Noticing the children that were trying to spy the foreigners, Emma murmured quietly to the baby who also exchanged just as keen looks with the younglings. A few trotted up, pausing to greet the blonde and her charge, before helping unload boxes and crates off of the repulsorlift. The place was small, quaint, and lively. Everyone was keen to help, to talk, and to learn. 

Approaching him with long strides, a woman was flanked by a young girl, hugging her leg nervously. "Greetings," she said evenly, through a warm, alto voice. "My name is Omera and this is my daughter Winta. Our humble lodgings are yours while you stay here," her hand skimmed down and brushed her daughter's back encouragingly. "Winta, the nice man is going to protect us from the bad ones."

Winta eyed him dubiously, reaching up for her mother. "Thank you," she said in a small voice.

Emma rejoined him, a smile brightening her face as she gazed at Omera. "Hello."

"Please, come with us to set down your belongings," Omera entreated, gesturing as she picked up her daughter and carried her toward one of the many homes that dotted the village. Leading the way into one of the houses, she delivered them to a master room which likely belonged to the dark haired woman. She spared a glance between the two adults, a smile pressing her features. "Come now, Winta, let's allow our guests to have a private moment."

Entering the room, Emma spoke up before he had the chance, taking notice that there was only a single, large bed. "Oh jeez."

The suggestion had been clear since before they had departed from the Razor Crest. Jud and the other farmer believed that they were together. Why not? It wasn't as if they could see beneath his armor and realize that he was older. In addition, Emma conducted herself in a mature manner. Whilst he knew that their relationship was professional, others might think elsewise. Even Cara might not know that she was just his medic.

Rounding on him, the baby cocked against her hip, she settled her violet eyes. "I can go ask around to see if there's additional lodgings," she offered quickly.

"It's fine," he insisted, glancing toward the chair near the bed.

"Mando," she pressed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're not going to have me sleep in the bed again and then sleep in the chair, are you?"

He didn't answer.

"No," she stood up straight, leveling her jaw and smacking him with a sharp glare. "You've already sacrificed the cot on the Razor Crest. Take the bed. You even said that we're not going to be here that long-" turning away, in an attempt to end the conversation, she moved toward the cradle that was in the room, setting the baby down. "And who knows how long it's been since you've had a moment to breathe with your helmet off."

He had moments. Up in the cockpit, stealing the chance for meals, allowing himself the minor moments aside from when he used the 'fresher to shower. "Mars, don't worry about it."

The smile she gave him erred on venomous. "Sleep in the bed," she told him through clenched teeth. "If you're going to fight these raiders, you need to be as well rested as possible."

She had a point, but he didn't like forcing her to sleep in a chair. As much as his neck and back would appreciate it, his pride spoke louder. "No."

Emma blinked slowly. "We're going to come to a compromise. So which would you prefer, getting the bed to yourself or sharing?" Her tone of voice was so haughty, that it brought color to his cheeks. So kriffing stubborn. Why was she being so stubborn?

"I'm not sharing it with you."

"So then, you get it."

A sigh pressed his lips, hissing out of his vocoder. But staring at her, he knew that she wasn't going to bend. There was a bright fury in those deep, amethyst eyes, refusing to cave to his own offer. But Din wasn't a weak man and nor did he wish to balk when leveled such a glare from a tiny woman. He could force her. Steal the chair in a petty attempt to make her sleep in the bed. But what if she slept on the floor just to cross him?

A knock on the door interrupted their quiet argument. 

Turning toward the door, keen on continuing this conversation when they were alone again, he opened it to see Omera and Winta. "We've brought you some food," the woman offered, holding a tray in her hands.

Stepping aside, he let the pair in, turning around to glance in Emma's direction. The peevish expression had fled and she had returned to being calm and benevolent. This wasn't the end. She was just posturing. Accepting the food graciously, she sat on the edge of the bed, glancing over coyly to test his patience as she ate the soup. Quietly proclaiming that this would be as far as she'd sit on the bed. 

"Can I feed him?" Winta was at the cradle, looking at the baby excitedly. 

Din nodded slowly, seeing no harm in it. Sitting down in the chair, his own dish set aside until he had enough privacy to eat it. The little girl fed the baby, preening with eagerness as he accepted the offering. Once she had finished, Winta glanced back toward the pair of guardians tentatively. "Can... can he come out and play with us?"

Emma had set aside her food, unfolding the kindest smile he'd been graced with seeing yet. "Yes. I think he'd like that."

Omera helped take the baby down from the cradle and guided her daughter out of the room. He half expected her to continue where they had left off, but instead she stood up and began removing some of her scarves. His heart leapt up into his throat for a moment, confused by what was going on, as she peeled down her upper layers to the short sleeved base layer. 

Folding the pieces neatly, she spared a single, prissy look at him. "I'm going to go for a run. I did not sense anything in this village that would lead me to believe Grogu is in danger," she explained. "I'll take a look at the perimeter of the village and see if I notice anything out of place."

"Don't go too deep into the woods until we know what we're dealing with," Din warned.

"I'm going to give you some alone time and to unwind, not because I'm eager to make a mad dash into the arms of the raiders," she countered. "I know where my strengths lie. However, if we're going to travel the stars and take up missions like this, I need to be in good shape."

He didn't think she was out of shape, but gleaned that she was suggesting she could be fitter. Perhaps in the time from her discharge from the military she had lost some of her leanness. He'd thought back on Arvala-7 that she had the calves of a runner. "Just... be careful."

"I'm taking the pistol with me," she told him smartly, trailing toward the door. "Enjoy the bed."

Din frowned as the door closed behind her, eying the bed after her departure. He did want to lie in it. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being a bit longer than I originally anticipated because I didn't want to break any of it up! Enjoy ~!

_"Nothing makes the past as sweet a place to visit, than the prospect of imminent death."_

* * *

Emma liked Sorgan a lot.

Maybe it was because she hadn't traveled very far amongst the expansive galaxy, but the atmosphere vibed with her. Her run had been splendid, reminding her of South Carolina in the spring. But each strike of her foot on the peaty earth drove a warm breath into her lungs, controlled, and paced as she skirted the village. How strange that remote civilizations like this lacked amenities like cell phones and television screens. Yet, the connection between the inhabitants had shown her that such technology was not required to make people happy. In fact, these distractions did little more than ruin the sense of community and cohesion. 

The villagers were kind, smiling and waving at her, eager to chat her ear off. Which, maybe she'd entertain later, but now she was keen on getting back into the military regiment. She needed to be quick, strong, and good enough to keep up with the Mandalorian. Sure, she wasn't going to be as good at fighting as he was, but at least she could sidle up behind him with a proper pack of medical equipment and make certain his temper didn't get him killed. God, that man was stubborn. 

Her feet carried her in several laps around the town, eventually straying amongst the fronds of trees, enjoying the coverage that they provided amongst the high point of the sun - the shade keeping her cool as she continued to put pep into her step. Emma had been enjoying herself until her peace was interrupted. 

Gasping, the steady rhythm of breaths she had been pacing herself with, was interrupted as she slammed into the glinting beskar of Mando. Unable to kick out her feet in time to stop, her face checked the chestplate. Cold, hard, and solid. Groaning, her hand flew up to her nose. "Jesus Christ, what are you doing out here?" she demanded, taking a step back to try and stop her head from spinning.

"You were gone for awhile. I just thought-" he paused, tilting his helmet down to observe the blood that had begun spouting from her nose. 

Touching it tenderly, she knew it wasn't broken, but it'd been hard enough. Between the change in humidity between the Crest and Sorgan, the brunt of force had cracked the sensitive flesh in her nose. "That I'd gotten into trouble," she deduced before wiping her nose, smearing the blood across her upper lip. "I told you that I wouldn't stray far."

"You were gone for an hour," he told her, almost accusing.

"Yes, I'm capable of running for that long," she informed him, grabbing the bottom of her shirt to tug it up to wipe more blood from her nose. It was beginning to stop. But in the midst of her consideration, she felt a twinge in the back of her mind, an unnatural twist, a premonition - a warning. "Get down!" She barreled into Mando, knocking him right onto the forest floor and into a thicket of ferns. 

His soft groan echoed through the vocoder and into her ear as she peered through the leaves of the bush that they had landed in. She dinged his helmet with a fist, trying to draw his attention as she leered up toward a pair of figures that were tramping through the woods. They were amongst some of the ugliest aliens she'd met thus far. Even the Niktos had been better looking than this couple. Their faces were molted, reminding her of a bull dog from the pull of their jowls and the canine nose. Deep set eyes were beneath a strong brow ridge, one of the aliens having a few hornlike structures cresting over their scalp in place of hair. 

Continuing through the forest, they wielded long polearm axes, speaking discreetly in a language she did not comprehend. On their backs, blasters were strapped, and Emma assumed that these must be amongst the group of raiders. Once they had continued through the woods, she heard Mando huff beside her, nearly in her ear. 

"Mars," he complained gruffly.

"What were they?" she asked, still laying in the ferns.

"Klatooinians... _Mars_!" his voice was more insistent this time, her mind stirring away from the view of their enemies and back where they were lying prone. She hadn't thought much of it. She would have done this to a soldier out in the field, but now that she observed where they were, she could understand his discomfort. She had hooked her arm around his neck, driving him down to the ground. But upon their fall, she'd landed underneath him, his beskar pressed against half her back as her bicep still tensed around his neck. 

She was forcing him to her flank, grinding her hips against his groin as she had devoted all her attention to the impending danger. Releasing her grasp on him, she still watched after where the raiders had disappeared to, laying prone as she breathed lightly, tickling the leaves in front of her. She’d forgotten her modesty at that moment, but Mando hadn’t. "They're lookers, aren't they?"

Mando pushed himself off the ground, leveling his helmet toward her in dismay. It took him a moment to regain his composure before he spoke. "They must have noticed that some of the farmers returned," he commented.

"I wondered if they noticed your shiny ass in the morning sun," she retorted with a light chuckle. Her fingers splayed in the dirt and pine needles, pushing up to her knees. Her shirt had been sweaty, the forest floor partially sticking to her chest. Dusting herself off hurriedly, she spared a glance back at the Mandalorian. "You think all the raiders are the same type of crayon eaters?"

He was clearly confused by what she had just said.

"Sorry, Klantutuians."

"Klatooinians," he corrected. "It's likely. They're not native to this planet."

"Hopefully, there's not that many more," she got to her feet, extending a hand to Mando. He gripped her forearm and it took a moderate amount of effort for her to stabilize herself enough and garner enough leverage to wrench him to his feet. "Good thing I was here or you might've been in some real trouble."

Mando snorted. "Right."

"I had everything under control," Emma assured him. 

"Of course, Ruus'alor."

"Ruu-who-sir?"

"Ruus'alor," he eased, pressing a gloved hand to her back and guiding her away from the forest. "It means sergeant."

"In what language?" she asked him as they broke the treeline and she noticed that the sun was beginning to set behind the forest. 

"Mando'a."

"Your peoples' language?"

"Yes."

It was then that she realized he was mocking her. Rolling her eyes at him, she stepped far enough ahead that he no longer needed to usher her forward. Despite her annoyance, she did find it intriguing that the Mandalorians had words for equivalent ranks in their military. Perhaps this galaxy wasn't as different as she had originally assumed. At least, the Mandalorians had a rank structure that she recognized. 

"Dune and I are going to scout out the raiders' encampment after sun down," he told her as they trotted amongst the village once more. She nodded slightly, acknowledging the fact that he was giving her the details so she could adjust accordingly. 

"Very well. I'll talk to Omera and see about acquiring additional resources. If God's on our side, hopefully you can just take them out tonight and we'll be done," turning to face him, she placed her hands on her hips with an air of arrogance. "Try not to get yourself injured. Your new, shinier armor looks as if it'll fare better than Arvala-7. Unless you find another mud rhino, then you might be SOL."

"SOL?" there was amusement in his voice being translated mechanically through his helmet.

"Shit out of luck."

"It was a mudhorn."

"Excuse me for not being aware of every weird creature in this galaxy. Again, I lived on a single planet my entire life, so enlighten me," she sauntered away from him, noticing that Grogu had found friends amongst the village children. They were eager to play with him and the child, in turn, revelled in the attention of beings just as youthful as him. Smiling to herself, Emma settled down on a stoop to watch them play.

Another figure settled beside her, the dark haired Omera. Her features, high cheekbones and elegant, reminded her of Native American heritage. "I hear that you're a medic," Omera entreated evenly.

"Yes, I am," Emma agreed. "Sorry, I know you introduced yourself, but I haven't done the same. My name is Emma Mars."

Omera offered a warm smile in return. "Where are you from Emma?"

"Naboo," she said shortly, remembering what Mando had said.

"Ah, I hear that Naboo is very beautiful," Omera admitted, her eyes tracing the group of children playing. "How'd you end up out here with a Mandalorian?"

Emma's mouth went dry, having not considered her plan this far down. Her senses were telling her that Omera had no ill intent and that she was just creating small talk. But still... she didn't know enough about this immersive galaxy to begin talking about it. Damn, she really was cursing the fact that she had never gotten into Star Wars at this point. "He helped me out," she offered finally, which was not a lie. "I was in a bit of trouble with the kid and he helped me. Since then, we've been working together."

"Working together?" Omera picked up on perceptively. But rather than be impish, she gave a sly grin. "Right."

"Right?" Emma chuckled to her own chagrin. "What do you mean?"

"The Mandalorian cares about you," Omera offered futilely.

Emma knew that much. He wouldn't have risked his neck for her if he didn't care. However, the way that Omera suggested it made her want to itch her skin in discomfort. "Sure," she agreed without realizing that she'd come off a little cold.

Omera gave her a sideways glance, her lips still curving up. "I overheard the two of you back in the house."

"Ah," she sighed, leaning back and placing her hands behind her neck as she stretched. There was an attempt to seem unbothered, but Omera's suggestion did make her heart flutter slightly. Damn, she hadn't thought that the both of them were being loud enough to garner attention, but the walls in the yurt must've been thin. "Well, I suppose he sort of does, considering that he helped me out in the first place."

Omera chuckled at her, brushing Emma's exposed forearm with a palm. "Emma," she insisted kindly. "Whatever happened between you two, off planet, it means more than you think it does. After you left to go running, he became incredibly restless."

Rolling her eyes, she wondered how his scouting mission was going with Dune. "I was out for a while. I hadn't warned him that I might be gone for that long."

But Omera did not press the subject more than that, just resigning to a knowing smile that infuriated Emma. Mando was so... cordial. How else was she supposed to perceive him? She had treated him like a soldier that she was tasked with keeping an eye on for injuries. Why was it that in this galaxy people seemed to think it was more? Perhaps if she had her own set of beskar they'd think little of it, but because they could see her face they assumed that her consideration and attention was more than loyalty.

The villagers just didn't comprehend. Mando did and that was enough. He was the warrior and her, the medic. 

Enjoying the cool evening, Grogu trotted up to tug on her pants, gibbering about the children he'd been playing with. She whisked him up into her arms, glad that he was enjoying himself. It was good that he got socialized with others at the same maturity level as him. The children of the Sorgan village had been sweet and gentle with him. "I know, youngling, hopefully we have a few more days here to enjoy the pleasantness."

 _Youngling._ That's a word her master had taught her. It was easy to apply to all species, since it was not indicative of race or gender. Somehow it had tumbled out of her mouth in a natural manner. This galaxy was growing on her. Emma highly doubted she would ever find her way back to the Milky Way and her heart sang - sang deeply with a missed resonance that hadn’t been back home. What was waiting back on Earth for her? The same empty black hole. The layers of a civilization that held no promises or offers for her. Had she not been discharged, Emma would have worked in the army up until her retirement. But she'd been too progressive and stern. Such strong features in a woman garnered attention and were not always positive.

Wherever she was now, she was enjoying herself much more than she was back in the Milky Way. With the Empire set behind her, helping remote civilizations like this brought satisfaction. Plus, no one really knew about her. She was an enigma and could carve her path through this foreign place without any questioning her. Emma need only learn more about how to survive and then maybe she could stop bothering Mando. Here, she felt like she had a purpose. Her eyes went back down to Grogu, drawing her fingers gently across one of his expressive ears. 

He gurgled, knowing eyes gazing up toward her. He was happy, his mind attaching to hers, sharing the images of excitement he had experienced throughout the day. It reminded him of his years amongst the Order before the younglings had been assassinated. Sucking on her teeth, Emma did not betray her emotions as she pressed her mouth to his brow. "We're safe," she promised him.

Eventually, Dune and Mando returned, but Emma sensed a disquiet amongst them. Settling back on the stoop, she observed as the villagers stepped forward to entreat them. His helmet set, the visor staring through the crowd and finding her. He need not speak, as she comprehended the tightness of his shoulders well enough. In the weeks, she had been able to read his body language rather well. Now, she understood that there was more to this than they had originally anticipated. 

Keeping Grogu beside her, she remained removed from the group as Mando began speaking. "You can't live here anymore," he declared, along the same thread that Emma had been expecting, but she still didn't comprehend why.

Conversation broke out amongst the crowd, the villagers upset that their coin had paid for this admission. Cara raised her hands, trying to placate them before their upset turned into fury. "Look, we know this is not what you want to hear, but there are few other options."

"We paid you!" one farmer shouted.

Emma rose to her feet, Grogu propped against her hip as she trailed forward.

"That was before we knew about the Imperial walker," Cara bit back, her voice straining to remain calm and even. 

Not knowing what that was, her violet eyes turned to Mando, who was scanning the crowd of people. She expected it was something large enough that even he couldn't take it on. What if she helped? What if she used the Force to inhibit it? Grogu couldn't be relied upon to ply his abilities on cue, but she could. 

"Sorgan is a big planet. I suggest that you move on away from this location," Cara continued, but in spite of her powerful voice, the villagers were not willing.

"My grandfather seeded these ponds."

"It took us generations to build this village."

Emma was nearly overwhelmed in that moment, feeling the churning emotions of the villagers. It caused her to sway, her empathetic connection to the Force so keen and bright. These people had a deep heritage to the land and they were not willing to uproot and move on. Perhaps it was easy for people who had seen so much to make such a suggestion. Cara and Mando had seen much of the galaxy. However, these people only knew Sorgan. 

"Teach them," Emma said, her voice cutting through the crowd. She could sense their passion, their willingness to protect what was theirs. Heads turned in her direction, staring at the white haired woman with the alien child. 

"It's an AT-ST walker," Cara protested immediately. "I've seen those walkers take out entire companies of trained soldiers within minutes."

Omera stepped up alongside Emma, fingers grasping her petite counterpart's shoulder. There was a reassuring and graciousness in the grasp - thankful that Emma had challenged her companions. "We are not leaving," she told them, setting her jaw stubbornly.

Cara was opposed to it, she could sense the hopelessness wafting off the ex-Rebel in thick waves. However, to her pleasant surprise, it was Mando who took a step forward. "Perhaps, they'll be able to if we teach them," he suggested, his head craning toward the woman who was of a similar height. 

"Thank you," Omera whispered, just loud enough that only she could hear. 

Emma offered a slight nod, still feeling Mando's gaze on her. He'd heeded her a second time. Did he simply trust her judgement because she had served in the military or was it for another reason that he was listening to her? There was no knowing for certain without asking. 

Cara caved, but she did give Emma a hard look, her suggestion having spurned all of this into motion. Truthfully, the Earthling had no idea what she'd just gotten the villagers into, aside from the fact that they were so willing to lay their lives on the line to protect their home. It felt right to help them. If she could choose her path, choose who she helped, and choose what actions that spoke to her personality - this was to be one of her first choices.

Bowing heads with Omera, she discussed what supplies she would need for the impending battle, including the proper amount of medical items. Whilst she didn't expect Omera to know all the items she detailed, she was pleasantly surprised to find that this rural villager knew exactly of the items she detailed. Emma didn't know of the congruencies between galaxies, having to tread carefully with the items she described. However, the items she requested were easier to come by than this omnipotent medicine called 'bacta'. She'd have to ask Mando more about such a concoction later.

Setting Grogu down for the night, Mando eventually joined her, dismayed to find her sitting in the chair, crossing her legs sassily.

"You're going to help train them," it was not a request, he was ordering it.

Smirking at him, she nodded. "Yes, once I have everything set up for a proper medicinal facility, I shall help teach them basic marksmanship," she paused, observing as the bed sat between the two of them, the Mandalorian standing tersely. "Enjoy the bed."

He chucked the blanket at her, grumbling quietly enough that she couldn't understand what he was saying. Revelling in her win, Emma accepted the blanket and coiled up on the chair. The army had taught her to be able to sleep anywhere. Be that on the ground, sitting amongst a thunderstorm, in the back of a humvee in full kit, or on a chair with just a blanket. She didn't need a bed to sleep. Her mind fell away from reality, slinking into the dream state in which she saw her master.

The lightsaber was between her fingers, humming with power as she held it in front of her, dancing with her master. Foot over foot, a delicate and very careful maneuver. His own saber lit with power, as violet as her eyes. "Emotions," he started. "Can be wielded to your advantage, my padawan."

He stepped toward her, raising his saber. 

"Anger. Fury. Wrath," he elaborated. "I have seen it in you. So righteous and pure. But rage in the wrong manner, applied to the wrong cause can lead to darkness. You must find a balance. Turn that rage into power. Expel it in your fighting. But be aware that you walk a tightrope in each fight. It is important that you harness your anger in this method only. For the right cause."

"Master, I understand. Do the right thing," Emma retorted, drawing upon the integrity she had been taught in the army. 

"I know you do," he remarked. "You are much more empathetic than other padawans that I have trained. It can be your strength... but it can also be your weakness. What becomes of our training is up to you, Emma Mars."

When she woke up, her fingers pressed not on the armrests of the chair, but into a soft, downy comforter. Snapping her neck up, she realized she was in the bed. Hissing a breath in the back of her throat, she threw the blanket off and glared around the room, wondering how Mando had managed to put her to bed while she had been asleep. Her own training with her master had been so encompassing that she hadn't noticed her physical form had been disturbed. 

_Mother fucker,_ she thought tartly, sparks of the fury that her master had mentioned, igniting in her heart. But Mando was not there. In her solitude, Emma allowed for a bitter snarl to escape her throat in face of her defeat. In the basin that Omera had filled up, Emma splashed her face with water, washing away a bit of sweat before sauntering outside. Oh, she was livid that Mando had managed to finesse her. However, she couldn't exert her anger without being noticed. Here she was, often thinking of how she'd have to keep a leash on his temper, fuming silently.

Out by the edge of the village, many of the locals were already getting lessons with the weapons they had lying around the village. Despite how different weapons were in this galaxy, Emma noticed immediately those most of them were old, banged up, and not as refined as those that Mando and Cara carried. Even the small blaster on Emma's hip was leagues ahead of what the villagers possessed. Sucking her teeth, she clucked and shoved aside her bitterness. 

Instead of seeking out Mando, she found Cara instructing a few villagers. The ex-Rebel's eyes turned up to her, lips curling like the cheshire cat. "Hey, Doc. You here to help out?"

"Yes," Emma answered evenly. "I've got experience. Tell me where to go and I'll start helping." She trusted Omera to acquire the list she had provided the evening before. Right now, these villagers needed to be whipped into shape if they had any hope of surviving. Part of Emma desperately wished she had a lightsaber to make the ground more even. But again, her luck had been quite shit all her life.

Cara directed her down the firing line toward some of the more decent shooters. It seemed that her and Mando were working with the worst of the bunch. Laying down on the ground with the four villagers, Emma introduced herself and started. "You all have a good leash on marksmanship," she started. "But your targets will not be stationary. You have to consider their movement and how close they're darting while you fire." Even if the guns shot lasers, there was only a small difference in curvature of the shots. Bullets tended not to have a curve before 300 meters, which was twice that of a metal jacket back on Earth, but Emma was able to make the calculations. Eventually, the bolt would curve down after the upward list.

"Now, if your target is 25 meters, where shall you aim?" she questioned.

"Toward their knees," Jud answered, amongst the crowd of better shooters.

"Why?" she prompted.

"Because the blaster fire will still be arching upward at that point," Omera quipped. 

"Good," Emma nodded, glancing amongst the few. "Now, recounting what we've gone over, Jamia-" she turned toward a female villager who tawny hair. "-what do you do if your weapon jams?"

S.P.O.R.T.S. didn't really work on these weapons, but Emma had figured it out quick enough. Running on cartridges, it wasn't atypical for the blasters to sometimes get jams as the bolts malfunction. While there weren't bullets per individual shot, the cartridge might not set when the weapon kicked back the slide or charging handle. Could be a shoddy cartridge, could be the weapon was in dire need of cleaning, oiling, or was just old. Either way, reloading was mostly needed after the typical 100 shots were fired. Depending on if it were a rifle, they had less rounds available, but most handguns were 100.

Jamia demonstrated down range, moving her hand as quickly as she was capable of, which was still a bit slow, but these people weren't soldiers. Compared to her counterparts amongst the firing range, her steady movements would be more reliable than the fumbling of a few guys just flanking them some feet away. 

"Right," Emma repeated, taking her own blaster and quickly running down the movements to give everyone a better look. "Then always tap the trigger pointed away from allies. Typically, you'd engage the trigger well with the weapon on safety, but since we're live firing-" she lifted the blaster and shot the pot that was teetering on the edge of a broomstick, eliciting a ding. "-it's better to test if the shot will go off."

The day continued at the same pace, Emma eventually parting ways to begin picking through the village's contents of medical supplies. Their common house had been turned into an impromptu base of operations and also where a table had been cleaned and prepared to hoist anyone who'd been injured. Originally, she wouldn't have been so nervous, but considering that she'd only dealt with bullets of a metal nature, she wondered what injuries from blasters might look like. From her comprehension, people didn't usually survive a blaster shot if it took them anywhere on their chest.

"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" Omera asked her, helping organize the equipment in the manner that Emma had specified.

"I've been around," Emma answered cryptically. 

"My husband fought in the war," Omera said slowly, her perceptive dark eyes settling on Emma. "Your mannerisms, the way you spoke while training today... were you a soldier?"

A soldier where? Earth and the United States didn't exist here. Nor did she know enough about the wars in this galaxy to pretend to be a veteran. Emma cleared her throat. "I was a medic. Knowing how to shoot in this galaxy is somewhat of a necessity if you intend on traveling, especially amongst the Outer Rim." Good. Good coverage. Omera wouldn't see through that. Had Emma gone full sergeant mode and not realized how they might look amongst the villagers? 

"You're not saying no," Omera smiled.

She hadn't. "I might've been."

"Well," Omera sensed that the conversation was erring on its end. "The village is lucky to have the three of you. I hope we don't have to use any of these supplies."

"Me too, Omera, me too."

Evening fell before she would have liked, the anxiousness of the battle ahead making her stomach twist. Didn't matter if it would be a small skirmish, she still worried about these kind people. They were willing to lay their lives down, but Emma didn't want that to happen. She'd been positioned at the rear, away from the firing line and with a few of the teenage girls and boys who weren't allowed to fight. They'd be her assistance, able to help guide the injured back into the common house where she could begin patching them up. It wasn't something a kid should have to see, but this galaxy didn't have the luxury of shielding the young. They'd already seen so much with the raiders harrying them.

Standing cross armed in front of the building, she glanced toward the farm house that had all the children in it. Sunlight had all but faded, hoping to utilize the darkness to help cover them from when the mech lumbered out. Emma didn't really comprehend what it was, other than likening it to a tank. 

"Mars," the voice drew her attention, her head snapping up to look toward Mando before he and Cara set out to draw the raiders back to the town. In the hazy dusk, his armor was dark, the black visor difficult to discern amongst the sharp features of his helmet. Her heart twinged. Didn't matter if she knew he was a good fighter, she still worried. "Stay out of harm's way tonight."

"I'll do my job," she offered sternly, setting her eyes back to the line. "If they need me, I'll be up there. But I know I'm not a hero." Despite saying those words, she'd disobeyed orders before to skirt the firing line and lay beside crippled allies. Tonight, there wouldn't be enough cover for her to even attempt that and she had no kevlar. "Just-" he was about to walk away, her blood beginning to pump in anticipation. "-don't get yourself killed."

"Roger that, Ruus'alor."

The mocking chime at the edge of his deep voice made her frown, but by the time she lobbed a reproachful look, he was already sauntering away. With his cloak snapping behind him in the wind, he cut quite an impressive figure as the starlight winked down against his armor. Strange, how even though she could not see the man's face, she found herself innately drawn in by his haunting captivation. The Mandalorian. Ha, she'd never expected her to take this strange of a turn or to find herself duly admitting that she might actually be attracted to this stubborn, short-tempered man.

Battle made you think weird things you wouldn't typically rationalize.

Watching on bated breath, as if she were teetering on the edge of a cliff, Emma's fingers pressed the holster of her handgun as she watched the battlefront warily. They'd dug pits in hope of tripping the mech, but who knew if they'd fall for it. Swallowing hard, she saw the first wave, explosions sounding in the distance, making her shoulders jump at the foreign noises of weapons she was not accustomed to. 

She saw it before she saw the raiders, stepping out of the trees on two legs. Her eyes flashed, familiarity coursing through her, but not because she'd seen it. Her master had seen these before. It stopped on the edge of the ponds, a flood light illuminating the clearing, and momentarily blinding all of the villagers whose eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Emma squinted, trying to see what was going on, just before a round whistled and a tent flanking the common house exploded in a ball of flames.

She fell to the ground from the shock, covering her ears as they rang. Disoriented, she felt her muscles quivering, her thoughts going back to IED explosions. It wasn't the same, but it was enough to keep her pressed to the ground reeling from the trigger. When the light of the fire died down and she could hear the din of blaster bolts, her vision cleared and she pushed herself to her feet. God, that was too close for comfort and she'd let her memories get the better of her. She'd need to meditate on that later, find a way to not be inhibited or lethargic when it came to reliving scenarios close to her wartime on Earth. Another pause like that could be fatal.

The first patient was dragged back, bringing Emma into the common house and away from the battle. She could still hear the noises outside, barely masked by the thin walls of the yurt. Setting the man on the table, her eyes raked over him, a new feeling setting into her mind as she slipped on gloves and observed the injury that ailed him. He'd taken an axe to the calf, the blood pouring from the flesh and his skin clammy and pale.

The teens around her balked, one threw up, but Emma gabbed the tourniquet and set to stemming the blood flow until she could inspect the trauma and see how deep the wound went. One girl did manage to help her, keeping the pressure on the tourniquet as Emma peeled back the skin. 

"Hold him down," she ordered a few of the more squeamish teens, but they were willing, turning their heads away as they pressed their hands into his shoulders. Another patient was dragged in. Staunching the blood with gauze, she saw that the blade had not cut to the bone, but it had severed the muscle. This man was going to have trouble with his leg for the rest of his life, but he wasn't going to die. 

She cleaned the wound, using scissors to tie off the shorn veins, thankful that the blade had cut clean. During her time back home, she'd gone to college, considering becoming a doctor until she found her way into more deployments. There had been opportunities to learn, to get hands on experience that typically was only found amongst medical school. If a doctor wasn't nearby, she needed to be handy enough to save lives, and Emma had committed herself fully to her job. She knew what she was doing. 

After making certain the bleeding had been staunched, she began sealing up the leg, the man passing out from shock. A teen kept the blood pressure, reading her the gauge. The tourniquet had done its job and his vitals hadn't dropped. She was worried about releasing it, which was why she bound his sutured leg up as tightly as possible, slowly weaning the tourniquet off as the readers were given to her in 20 second intervals. But she couldn't linger. Once she was certain he'd fare decently, she had the teens clean the table down and turned to see the waiting line of injured villagers.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

_“You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”_

* * *

His side stung, but they'd won. The odds had been stacked against them, but between Cara's potshots and egging on the raiders, they had managed to take down the AT-ST, sending the others scattering. This village wasn't worth their time, especially if they were going to fight back. Cheers echoed back around the firing line, happy tears and emotions welling over the crowd. He bent down, extending a hand to pull the soaking wet Dune out of the pond, frowning at how wet his rifle was, but he should have been glad that they were alive. 

"Not bad, Mando, not bad," Cara commended, giving him a hard enough slap on the back that the laceration on his side pinched painfully. She noticed his intake of breath, cocking her head. "Looks like you need to go see Doc."

"She needs to tend the villagers first," Din objected, but turned his helmet to gaze toward the common house that was a bright beacon amongst the village cloaked in night. After checking on those still loitering, he made his way over to find that a few more patients remained. 

Staff Sergeant Emma Mars was unlike how he'd seen her up until this point. Her long hair had been braided out of her face and was pinned carefully at the nape of her neck in a bun. She wore an apron bespeckled with blood, turning away to pull off her gloves and wash her hands. Lining her face was concentration and wisdom, her eyes no longer sweet and benevolent, jaw tightened as she set to work. She looked older. Returning to the man sitting on a chair, his shoulder twisted and clearly out of its socket. Gripping his hand, she offered him a tight lipped smile. 

"This is going to hurt. Bear with me," she warned before beginning to turn his arm back into place. Even Din winced beneath his helmet, the man's face contorting as he let out a high pitched whine. "And-" she jerked forward, a loud pop following with a cry as she reset the dislocated shoulder. "It might feel fine now, but you're going to need to wear it in a sling for a couple of weeks. If you don't rest it, you'll be feeling considerably worse by tomorrow morning."

With the assistance of scarves, she pinned the man's arm to his chest before sending him off. Moving between the line, Din watched with intrigue as she tidied up in between. While not surprised, he was impressed how well she knew her trade, but supposed that she'd seen many similar injuries out in the field before. Once or twice, her eyes slid over to him, but quickly turned back to the remaining patients. After they cleared out and she removed her apron, she leaned against the table and poised a flinty look in his direction.

"I thought I told you to come back in one piece," she retorted. 

What wonderful bedside manner. She'd been kind to all the other patients except for him. "No, you told me not to get myself killed," he corrected, voice slightly strangled through his vocoder at her attitude.

Standing up, she pointed to the chair beside her. "Well, what're you here for? Can't be too bad since you waited all this time and your beskar protects your vitals."

He flinched when he stood, pressing gloved fingers against his side as he sat down. Amethyst eyes observed his hesitance before she craned down beside him, her breath catching on the side of his helmet. "Vibro-blade scratch. It's not too bad-" he assured her.

"Right," she said sarcastically. "Excuse me if I don't take you at your word."

Rather than do anything, she waited expectantly beside him. "Are you-"

"I can't help you with all those layers on," she reminded him, stepping away to trail to the door and lock it. "Where is it? On your side where the armor doesn't meet?"

"Just give me the cauterizer, I'll seal it myself."

She arched an unamused brow at him. "Take it off."

The demand sent chills down his back, but he didn't move. This was all purely for medical purposes and yet the tone of her voice made him blush in tandem with the narrow gaze she assaulted him with.

"Goddammit, Mando, stop being so stubborn and let me help you!"

He grumbled, reaching up with the hand on his uninjured side to begin loosening the straps for his chestplate. It had been a long time since he'd been around anyone with so little layers and it didn't help that it was her. Why though? She was just a medic, here to help him, and yet his fingers didn't want to work. Hissing a sigh, she stepped up beside him and began helping in removing the chestplate. With little regard for his own modesty, her patience thinned, the beskar being set carefully on the ground beside him. 

Din Djarin felt exposed, but it was even worse when he rolled up the padded cloth of his shirt, peeling the cloth away from his wound that had bit through the layers. Pain lanced the wound, especially as the fabric tugged at his raw skin. Kneeling beside him, he heard a gentle sigh, uncharacteristic compared to the callousness she had been displaying before. Her fingers made him jump, pressed so close to his side where the laceration was, but also erring against his partially exposed abdomen and waist. Barely managing to swallow, he glanced down at her as she assessed the wound. 

"You're going to need sutures," she informed him, pressing a few pieces of gauze to the cut. "Hold this while I get the proper supplies."

He did as he was bid, eyes trailing as the petite woman stood and began collecting the necessary equipment. She returned with clean gloves on and started to clean away the blood. Grinding his teeth, alcohol was applied. 

"Mando, stop fidgeting," she warned, preparing the needle.

"Easy for you to say."

He got a glare for that one. "If you keep moving, _I swear to God_ I'll-" but she set to work, the rest of her voice trailing off as she muttered beneath her breath and began to stitch him up. He wasn't squeamish, so he looked on, the black string being moved with delicate precision and with stitches so clean and neat. She blotted the blood still coming, but her movements were deliberate. Typically, bacta would have sufficed, but given they were so remote and there was none, this type of healing was necessary. He'd done it to himself before, but in comparison his own work was sloppy and untrained. Not many people still knew this trade given that bacta was all encompassing.

Finishing up, she taped gauze over his wound and stood, tossing away the bloodstained pieces and removing the ensemble of medical gear that she had worn. While she washed her hands for the umpteenth time, he rolled down his shirt, heat radiating from his chest and up to his throat. There was something captivating in the way she moved, the new light of her abilities still fresh before him as he grazed where the stitches were. Even if she joked about not knowing anything out here, she'd proven that she was the medic she claimed to be. What was it like back on earth? What had brought her to this point in her life? He had so many questions, but didn't voice them. 

Placing his chestplate back on, he carefully tightened it, as not to cause too much strain against his side. Only just about to stand, he almost bumped right into her, reminded duly of surprising her in the forest. She'd run headlong into him, butting her nose hard enough into his beskar that it caused it to bleed. He hadn't done anything other than stand in her path, but she'd been devoting her attention elsewhere, quietly cursing him for popping up out of nowhere. But she had keen senses, even if she hadn't been looking for him, she'd known that a pair of raiders was approaching and wrestled him down to the ground with that same, astonishing burst of strength for someone so tiny. Then again, she had grabbed his neck, forcing him down headfirst into the brush.

To her, he was a comrade, a fellow soldier. Her reactions, the way she spoke, he had gleaned that, especially given that Emma hadn't realized what she did while they were in the ferns. Her mind was set to the task, not to the compromising position that she was pulling him into. While she was younger than him, he didn't think of her as a girl, and being subdued into that position had perplexed him. Just as he was flustered now after having her patch him up. Might've been easier to just sear it himself, but the way her hands had carefully coasted his skin... the thought made him shiver as he looked down at her.

"The bandages will need to be changed daily. I expect you'll want to do that yourself since you threw such a fit," Emma was saying, hanging him clean gauze and a half used roll of medical tape. "Should take a week or so before the sutures can come out. I can help you, or if you insist, you can remove them yourself. However, I do suggest that you let me do that, because you'll probably do more harm than good."

He frowned, but accepted the items. "Thank you."

Turning back toward him, a strand of her pale hair flew into her face. "You're welcome," she returned politely, tucking the piece behind an ear before continuing to diligently wrap up tidying the room.

Then why was it, even if she had simply been helping him, that he couldn't get her visage out of his mind? The professional, calm and steady medic with a plethora of knowledge in healing arts. And the way she glided around the room with learned confidence, lowering her head to work, lowering her head to help _him_. He had wanted her hands to continue, past the edge of where his shirt had been rolled up. And that realization startled him. For now, they were working together and were nothing but civil and courteous - save for her glib remarks. A partnership of a sort. But he didn't know where any of this was going. Emma probably wouldn't be able to go back to her galaxy. Deep down, part of him, a selfish part, hoped it wasn't possible at all.

_"Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star?"_

* * *

They stayed on Sorgan longer than anticipated. Between his own healing wound and the kid's acclimation, it just seemed right. Ever since being introduced to the village children, Grogu had been bright, chipper, and out like a light at the end of every night. Given their extended stay, Emma had finagled a bed with another family, sharing a room with a teenage girl instead of him. After he'd put her to bed that evening weeks ago, he knew she'd been miffed that she had lost the competition. That left him with the kid during the night and into the morning. While he enjoyed the day to day life of the village, Emma and the kid had their own niches.

She spent a lot of time keeping herself busy. Helping the villagers, interested in how their harvests worked, playing with the children. Din also felt a sense of peace that he'd not experienced in a long time, enjoying the simplicity of the town. He kept an eye on the both of them, savoring the brightness on their faces with each new day. He felt warm.

"Would it kill you to take your helmet off once in a while?" Cara complained beside him, lounging in a chair and enjoying the mild day. They were watching the children play in a clearing.

"I cannot put it on again if I take it off in public," Din told her evenly. He knew that he was a shiny beacon amongst the rural outcropping. But there had been a few instances when he'd thought about it. During the stay, he'd bumped into Emma while she had been climbing a tree to help a girl who'd gotten herself wedged near the top. Bare foot and shimmying her way up, she retrieved the crying child and hopped back down to send her back off to town. 

That encounter had been the first time in a while that they'd been alone. Most often the young woman was surrounded by others. Her smiles, her manners, and her kindness drawing in not only the kids, but other women her age - to include the slightly older, Omera - and men who flitted around nervously, almost afraid that Din would shoot them if they erred too close. But he'd done nothing. Fleeting words spoken between them since the battle and her kriffing attitude - she was so cheeky with him compared to everyone else. Down from the tree, he'd thought about taking off his helmet and kissing her. At that moment, it had seemed right. The impulsive idea quickly darted away as he realized how inappropriate it was. Their relationship was not that and he'd only been taken by the way her soft hair fluffed up around her flushed cheeks as she cocked a wild smile at him, proud of her endeavor and helping the girl.

"You should take it off," Cara insisted, eyes trailing the village as a frond of women came back from harvesting krill. Emma was amongst them, laughing as she spoke to Omera, carrying a basket of her own. She was wearing one of the Sorgan dresses rather than the clothes she'd acquired back on Arvala-7 and her hair was pulled out of her face in a long ponytail. "Stay here. Marry the beautiful, young medic. Raise your kids here while sipping spotchka."

The suggestion made his heart hurt, watching as she disappeared around a bend, her hair streaming in the sunlight. He wanted to. But he knew better. "Word travels fast and we rose hell here a few weeks ago. Too much action for a backwater world. It'll be better to move on," he said finally.

Cara huffed, cocking a sad smile in his direction. "I'd hate to be the one to tell them."

"I-" he paused, glancing back at the baby as he played with his new friends. "-am thinking of leaving them here. Traveling is no place for the kid and Emma won't go without him. My job is done. They'll both have better lives here."

The ex-Rebel's eyes hardened at this, sharp and slightly unfriendly. "You'll break their hearts," she warned in a low voice. "Maybe the kid will get over it one day, but Doc? Maker, Mando and here I was thinking you had feelings for her."

He didn't want to admit that he did. Din had done absolutely nothing to act on them, but he knew that he had feelings for her. That was why he had to leave them behind where they'd be safe. Additionally, he didn't even know if his feelings would be reciprocated. She huffed at him all the time, so it wasn't as if she was exceptionally keen on him. But his mind went back to Nevarro, seeing her so terribly pale in the lab. What waited for her on the road? Danger. 

Pushing himself to his feet, he ghosted his hand over the wound that she'd stitched up. It had healed by now, but he still felt her fingers against his tanned skin. Leaving Cara behind, he sought her out as she conversed with a few woman, whose eyes darted toward him before understanding that he was there to talk to Emma. 

"Do you have a moment?" he asked her.

Emma nodded toward the women and parted ways with them, wiping damp hands on the smock of her dress. "What's up?" That casual tone, familiar and friendly, the brightness of her violet eyes framed by dark lashes. "We checking out of here soon?"

Cara's words haunted him, reminding him that he was the first person in the galaxy to show Emma kindness. She was comfortable with him in a manner the others wouldn’t understand. "Do you like it here?"

"Uhm, yeah it's not half bad. But I bet there's so much more outside of Sorgan. The whole galaxy," she reminded him as if he'd forgotten. Being from only one planet, the idea of traveling excited her. He'd caught her ogling the stars when they flew in the Crest, almost as if it were the most amazing thing despite how mundane it was to him.

"It's not safe for the child," he eased gently.

Emma frowned slightly. "Perhaps not..." she agreed, brows pushing together before her eyes widening mindfully. "Mando. You're not going to leave us here, are you?"

"You fit in well here," he protested. "And he likes it here."

"I'm an earthling. It's only a matter of time before people start picking up on my inconsistencies," her voice was growing hot, cheeks flushing as she leveled a glare at him. "Why can't you stay?"

"I don't belong here."

"Neither do I," she challenged, despite the fact that he knew she did. "What, you want me to settle down, marry some farmer, and forget about you?"

 _Forget about him._ Those words stuck out, their importance stressed in her hitching voice as she glowered defiantly. He took her small hands in his, turning her palms over as he considered her words. Calloused hands of a soldier, but still tiny and weak. Gripping her hands, he pushed a sigh from his chest. No, he didn't want her to settle down and marry someone else, but his own mouth betrayed him, "Yes."

Emma tore her hands from his, sniffling slightly as she fought back tears. "For the first time in my life, I felt like things were going right. That getting sent here wasn't so bad. I thought that... I thought that-" she stammered, trying to cling to her composure, unable to finish her train of speech. Maker, watching her hurt, but it had to be done. Having her resenting him would be easier. Then he'd return to the awful silence of the Crest. No giggling of the baby. None of her plethora of questions about the galaxy. No singing...

The sound of blasterfire put him on alert, turning and snagging his arm protectively in front of Emma, thrusting her behind him. 

"Grogu!" she exclaimed, running from around him - much to his dismay- hiking her skirts up to go directly toward where the shots had gone off. He followed swiftly, fingers tensing against his blaster, children crying and quailing as Cara bent over a dead Kubaz. Emma plowed toward the child, scooping him up and hugging his tiny form tightly to her as he quivered. Peels of smoke wafted off of the corpse, a coin in Dune's hand.

Flicking it on, the hologram bounty puck revealed Emma's visage. Cara jerked her jaw in his direction, an unspoken pointedness in her dark eyes. He found the second puck for the child on the body as well, finding himself turning the coin over in his hand as he considered quietly. They were still in danger. The Imperial remnants had not given up and their activity on Sorgan had drawn attention. He couldn't leave them here. 

Tilting his helmet up toward Emma, he saw that her eyes were on him, but her gaze was raw. Between the scare with the child, he couldn't tell if she was upset with him or what had just happened. Likely both. She left, turning away to take Grogu away from the body. 

"Looks like the decision was made for you," Cara remarked grimly. "What... did you say to her?"

Din just stared in the direction she had disappeared in. "Doesn't matter now."

Cara caught his arm, leaning toward him, but whatever she was going to say - it died on the back of her throat. Din snagged away from her, heading toward Omera's house, finding Emma and the kid inside. She was packing her things, shoving them into the bag, her ponytail scattered on the side of her face as she tossed the items in peevishly. 

"Mars-" he entreated quietly.

Furious violet eyes snapped up from underneath her hair, the same fury he'd seen when she'd come out of cryo on Nevarro. "Looks like you're stuck with us. Must be a real disappointment," she closed the bag and slung it over her shoulders. 

He was rebuffed, closing his mouth and hissing through the vocoder. Truthfully, he hadn't wanted to go without them. If he hadn't said anything, if he'd waited just a few minutes longer then none of this would have happened. Instead, they'd be going back to the ship as a chip wedged between them. All because he'd been hasty in telling her that he was going to leave her on Sorgan. 

"What?" she curled impishly. "Nothing?" Returning to lift the child, she softened slightly when she looked at the babe, but became tense again gazing at him. "Let's go. Before another bounty hunter tries to kill us."

Din nodded silently, collecting his rifle, and trailing after her slowly. What had she said before? Stating that nothing had gone right in her life until this point. She hadn't gotten the chance to finish, to say what she was thinking, but recalling the crestfallen expression on her face pained him. Did she really like being around him? He wouldn't have thought so since she had been off on her own amongst the village, but now he was certain that the situation on the Razor Crest was going to be needlessly tense. He wasn't looking forward to it. But then again, he was glad he wouldn't be alone.

The villagers helped collect the last of the supplies, parting with a few of the medical items for Emma to take back to the Crest with them. Cara had divided some of her credits, offering them to the petite woman, stating that, "You helped too. You should be paid for your work." Reminding him duly, that he had not compensated her at all for the work she'd done as a medic, which might draw more suspicion toward the nature of their relationship. 

"Hey, I'll bring you guys back to the Razor Crest," Dune offered after being handed back the small blaster she'd lent Emma. 

"I plan on bypassing the town," Din informed her stoutly.

"Ah-" her eyes slid between them all. "Until our paths cross again."

Emma had her own receiving line, bending down to say goodbye to a tearful Winta, and hugging Omera before thanking her. Getting up into the repulsorlift sled, she glanced down at the child, whose wide eyes settled on the other children who waved to him. The journey back to the Crest was brutally quiet. At least when aimed in his direction. Emma sat on the opposite side of the sled, talking quietly to the baby, ignoring him. He didn't know what to say. How to make it better. Or maybe he did and he was too prideful to concede. He'd only thought of leaving her there to keep her safe, not because he disliked her. 

Why didn't she understand that? 

Not a single word. 

Back in the Crest, she sat on the bunk, her shoulders turning toward him. Rather than try, he climbed up into the cockpit, starting the ship up for take off, considering where they might go. His head hurt. Pressing a hand to his helmet he let out a weary sigh. Then. Strangely, he heard her voice for the first time since leaving the village. Clean, articulate, and stronger than he'd ever heard it before in song. The tune suited her more than the others, the curve of her voice as she comfortably told it to the child. 

_"It started out as a feeling_

_Which then grew into a hope_

_Which then turned into a quiet thought_

_Which then turned into a quiet word_

_And then that word grew louder and louder_

_'Til it was a battle cry_

_I'll come back_

_When you call me_

_No need to say goodbye_

_Just because everything's changing_

_Doesn't mean it's never_

_Been this way before_

_All you can do is try to know_

_Who your friends are_

_As you head off to the war_

_Pick a star on the dark horizon_

_And follow the light_

_You'll come back_

_When it's over_

_No need to say good bye_

_You'll come back_

_When it's over_

_No need to say good bye_

_Now we're back to the beginning_

_It's just a feeling and now one knows yet_

_But just because they can't feel it too_

_Doesn't mean that you have to forget_

_Let your memories grow stronger and stronger_

_'Til they're before your eyes_

_You'll come back_

_When they call you_

_No need to say good bye_

_You'll come back_

_When they call you_

_No need to say good bye."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, now that I think about it, Emma's voice is certainly inspired by Regina Spektor. If I had to choose someone who she sounded like singing, it would certainly be as warm and bright as Regina's. Writing this chapter was so hard, because of how stupid Din can be and the fact that the both of them are so freaking prideful. 
> 
> Poor lil' Emma just wants to explore the galaxy. The song she sang is definitely meant for Grogu, to make him feel better about leaving Sorgan. However, I do love the double meaning that Din might take from it.
> 
> Also, NGL Mando be catching feelings.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My ambition is to Daenerys up Emma's hair is that the more Jedi-like she becomes, the more braids she tends to wear in her hair. Sort of like a coming of power, she acquires more braids the closer she errs to the Force. Currently, the most she does is a single braid out of her face. When she was a prisoner of the Empire and as Din's bounty, she just wore her hair loose.

_"Eventually you'll end up where you need to be, with who you're meant to be with, and doing what you should be doing."_

* * *

An entire galaxy to explore - the capability to do it just within fingertip's reach. Why would she want to stay on Sorgan. The familiarity of the atmosphere and climate was nice, but it had been a calming stay. One where Emma was able to collect herself and seek center. Between the ability to stretch her legs and run everyday, she was also able to listen to the stories of the locals. She enjoyed the bonding, the ability to get to know people from everywhere. No story was too little or too simple. Emma wanted to soak in all the opportunity. 

That's why it hurt when Mando told her that he was going to leave her and Grogu. She did not want that. Being here, in this galaxy, was helping her in a way that earth could never supply. She was doing what she was good at, finally having purpose, the song of the Force bolstering her step everyday. But why was it that she felt so betrayed? Mando was about to leave her. 

They didn't know each other that well, perhaps that was why it didn't mean as much to him as it did to her. She was just an inconvenience, a person that he'd felt guilty about turning in, and now that he was certain she was safe he'd go back to his life. What had she been hoping for? Her and Grogu had intruded on a private man's life. He probably just wanted his solitude again, but she was saddened by his words, thinking that they owed each other more than that. Her guide in this strange galaxy; Mando. 

Emma knew she had another purpose. Or else she would have never been delivered here. Whatever connection she had with the Force, it was enough to elicit attention from another galaxy. Her dreams of training, they translated to real life. Her body was growing stronger, each day the hum of the magic deeper in her bones, though her fingers reached for a saber that did not exist. Sorgan had bought her more time to hone herself, but come the moments before the bounty hunter had attacked, she had a feeling that their stay was coming to an end. Mando might've thought that she fit in there, but he couldn't have been more wrong. 

Emma hadn't been given these powers to squander them on a backwater planet. No, the Force had plans for her or else she'd have been enjoying PAX East and making a futile attempt to finish medical school. 

"Hey, what have you got there?" Emma asked Grogu as he trotted around with a strange brick in his hands. Since arriving back on the Razor Crest, she'd initially given Mando a cold shoulder. But unless someone had wronged her terribly, she wasn't one to hold grudges. Rationalizing his actions later, Emma relented on her callousness. But things weren't as they were before, despite the fact that she tried to pretend they were. Whatever their relationship was, she couldn't s. Mando had returned to being short, no longer offering a few rare, but rewarding quips. She'd pushed him away. "Come on, give it here."

She held her hand out, the baby padding over to hold it up victoriously. He pressed a button on it, the bang startling the both of them as the hull of the Crest lit up brighter than the sun, overwhelming their senses. But the light did not fade and return her to the ship, instead her ears continued to ring, the dusty image of a turned over humvee sitting in front of her.

An IED had just gone off, tossing the first vehicle and causing the rest of the convoy to screech to a halt. Blood, metal, gunpowder, gasoline. Sergeant Mars was pressed against the fallen vehicle, her rifle tense in her fingers as she panted, breathing in the toxic fumes of the guttering engine. 

"Mars, you've got to pick up and go. The vehicle-" the man beside her sputtered, his face so ghostly pale. "-if it continues like this, it's going to explode."

"Once we have proper cover, I'll drag you to the humvee behind us," Mars assured him, her eyes slipping down, seeing the blood still tensing where she'd applied both her own and his tourniquet to stumps. The flow had been staunched, but there wasn't the time, nor safety for her to properly work on him. Her pack was inside the vehicle that was now spilling oil and gas. A gunshot pinged against the toppled humvee, making her flinch. 

"Mars-" his voice was weak, but insistent. "You still have a chance. You're going to drag me home looking like Lieutenant Dan?" He offered a smile, despite the terrible gravity of the situation. Still, he was able to joke about Forrest Gump when his calves had been blown off. 

Jerking slightly, she used the cover of the humvee to post her rifle, leering down the sights to see where the incoming fire had pelted them. A flash of light against the rubbled road and dirt told here where they were. Her finger grazed the trigger, locking back into a three round burst, before she aimed for where she'd seen the metallic glint. A scream in the distance told her that she'd struck home. Ducking back down, she whipped back to him. 

"Reynolds, you're making it out here. I don't give a fuck if you turn into Lt. Dan. You're going to make it out of here," she snarled, swinging her rifle down and drawing her handgun. Reaching down, she hooked her gloves into the tab on the back of his kevlar, praying to God that the soldiers behind them could cover them without hitting them. They were infantry, so she had high hopes. Locking her jaw, a roar ripped out of the back of her throat as adrenaline surged through her muscles and she began dragging Sergeant First Class Reynolds through the smoke and haze.

Blood seeped into her eye from where her helmet had smashed into the dash after the IED had gone off. She could taste the copper in her mouth, nearly halfway to the cover of the friendly humvee when more bullets whistled by. She screamed, her shoulder lancing with pain as a round whistled clean through. Her grip of Reynolds slipped as she fell, gripping her injury as crimson began pouring out of the hole in her uniform, turning green to red. 

"Help us!" she screamed futilely, still 50 meters from the humvee. Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, she took her damp, stained hand of the non-injured arm and hooked back against Reynolds. But the adrenaline was beginning to fade, the weakness of her wound seeping into her bones as she overexerted herself. 

"Mars, tell my wife I love her."

"No. _NO!_ Reynolds please, please don't leave me!"

She turned her eyes to look back out into the haze, to see the muzzles of the enemy, but she looked back in the Razor Crest, staring into the dark visor of Mando. Her breath caught, blinking a few times as she trembled, confused by what had just happened. Where...

Horror smacked her in the face as she realized she had tumbled into a memory at the light of the flashbang. Gloved fingers were tight around her shoulders as she quaked, her own hand pressing to where she'd sustained the bullet wound. 

"Mars."

Emma glanced back, trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened, realizing how dangerous it was that she kept falling into these repressed memories. Who knew what she was doing when she was triggered. Barely noticing that Mando was knelt in front of her, basically holding her up as she tried to calm her heart. This was part of the reason she'd been discharged from the army. So much death. Some of which she had dealt. Both by bullet and others by failure. She flinched, bowing forward as her heart felt as if it had taken a knife, choking back a sob, trying to guard herself but failing miserably as she whimpered.

Weak. She was weak. There were others who'd seen much worse than her and yet here she was. She was a dishonor, a humiliation to the army. A poor medic to top that all off. Reynolds had been her mentor, part of the reason she'd soared so successfully in her company. It was with his guidance that she'd learned how to be a good soldier. She had been his padawan. He had died because she acted too late.

How long they were there on the cold floor, she didn't know, but she kept her hand to her heart - the pain still so great and throbbing. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball in a dark room and sleep away the rest of the day. Back on earth, she had been careful to stay away from noises that remind her of her deployments. However, here it was always a tossup if she would be affected. With her training with her master, she assumed that her mental state was getting better, then in a moment like this - it was all whisked out from underneath her like a magician whipping a tablecloth out from a fully set table. 

Reynolds had been a Star Wars fan. She remembered buying him a mug one Christmas that said, "I have a bad feeling about this." Though she had never understood the importance of those words or who had said them. But he had loved it. Every morning he'd throw his mud into it, giving her a toast before saying the coffee tasted like turpentine, though the mug made it alright.

Soldiers don't cry.

"Mars."

Mando spoke again, so gently that it roused her from her mental anguish. Lifting her eyes, she drew a shuddering breath, finally becoming aware of her surroundings. Heat pressed her cheeks, staining her pale complexion with red. "I'm sorry-" she said immediately, trying to wrench herself to her feet, but Mando's grip was too strong. Wincing slightly, her knees aching against the steel floor, she dared a glance back up at him, the mysteriousness of his visor making her swallow hard.

"You were remembering when you were at war," he stated.

Emma flinched, assuming she must have said enough to betray that. What had she done? A small nod was all she could manage, averting her own eyes to the side to stare toward the storage area. She'd not wanted to talk to anyone about this, let alone Mando. People always said you felt better after talking about it, but Emma couldn't bring herself to do as much. A therapist had never worked because she wasn't willing to talk. She'd always deflected.

"Someone died."

"Many people died," she answered quietly. "The worst part? When you find out the ones shooting at you were children. And you shot back without realizing." Pressing her eyes closed, she remembered being dragged away from Reynold's dying form. Fading in between light, she'd woken after being patched up enough, the bodies being separated and cleaned up. Reynolds had been set aside on a stretcher, a Black Hawk coming down to ferry his corpse away like Charon. But the other bodies had been collected, one of which she'd shot. A boy of no more than 11 years old. Not only had she lost her sergeant, she'd murdered a child.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

God, he was being so tender and considerate, but Emma hadn't even opened up the people assigned to her by the military. Aside from pissing off the colonel, had she just accepted the help, she might've remained in the service. But Mando's offer was just the same as the others. "No." Being in another galaxy didn't change the memories, nor the emotions they elicited. 

His fingers lessened their grip, allowing for her to stand up, pausing to lean against the wall of the ship. "Mars-"

"Don't," she warned in a low voice. Thankfully, fate was on her side at this moment. The ship lurched and alarms began blaring, illuminating the shed floor with siren lights. Mando hesitated, but then stood up and tore back up toward the cockpit. Her lip quivered, the last bit of posturing she possessed slipping between her fingers once he was gone. Choking back a sob, she pushed her brow against the cool, frigid metal of the wall. 

A tug on her skirt brought her eyes down, seeing the warm, confused eyes of the child. Oh God, what had he witnessed? Bending down, she scooped him up and tried to bring herself back to reality. A palm pressed to her cheek, rubbing away a few tears that had escaped the corners of her eyes. He garbled loudly, reassuringly, understandingly. 

"You know what it's like," she whispered, recalling his memories of watching the decimation of the younglings. "You're stronger than me."

He shook his head, pushing harder against her face. There was an insistence in his actions, a word ringing out bright in her head. 'Talk'. 

"To you? You know I could show you, but I wouldn't wish to burden you with that, darling."

He gurgled in disagreement. She could sense that he had been upset by witnessing her moment, the torrent of emotions she'd unleashed probably frightening him. What if she did it again? Even if she was saddling herself with this burden, if it overflowed again it would affect him through the bond they had. Maybe her master would have a good suggestion on how to deal with it. There must have been Jedi who had traumatic stress after wartime. Gleaning such knowledge might also help Grogu.

"Let's not think of it right now. We should see what all that noise was about," Emma pointed out lightly, trying to deflect from the subject at hand. Turning toward the cockpit, she tried not to think of what Mando might've seen, the delicate manner in which he entreated her. Maybe he'd seen others who were like her, who were trapped by the hauntings of their past. Scaling the ladder, she was nearly tossed off as the Crest lurched again, pinging hard into the frame entering the cockpit.

Grimacing in pain, she rolled her sore shoulder and stumbled over to the co-pilot seat to see what was going on. A smaller, flightier ship than their own was whistling above them, a siren wailing and blaring red against the dash. Emma didn't have to know what it was to know that it wasn't good.

"I can bring you in warm or cold," an unfamiliar voice grated through the radio. 

Mando cocked his heat slightly, focusing as the smaller jet made a move to ram them. He jerked the controls down, causing the other pilot to swing in a large arch. Drifting in front of them due to his miss, Mando trained the weapons on the enemy before the cannons fired. The ship exploded, sending metal and debris scattering amongst the stars. There was no body to be seen, no blood, just fragments of existence that space would claim as its own. 

"That's my line," he grumbled.

But despite the fact that their enemy had been dashed to pieces, the Razor Crest still blared. Observing the screens, she heard him growl beneath his breath, flipping a switch that caused the entire ship to putter off. Listing amongst the stars aimlessly, she looked on curiously, not knowing the first thing about flying, especially space crafts. He flipped another switch, the Crest humming with a few, bleaker lights; emergency power. 

"We're going to have to land," he told her, only sparing the briefest glance back before his gloved hands went back to the controls. "It's Tatooine, a desert planet. Prepare accordingly."

Emma nodded, standing up, her back aching yet again. She suspected that the collision had bruised her skin, but there was no knowing without a mirror or asking someone to look in a few hours. Setting Grogu down on the bunk, she expected it was going to be about a half an hour before they landed, so she grabbed the clothing from Arvala-7, palming her bag of credits, wondering if Tatooine would be a good place to look for more appropriate attire. She had few outfits and the dress from Sorgan wasn't good for much than being comfy on the ship.

Groaning slightly, she pulled off the dress after slipping her trousers on, the cool air of the ship making her skin prickle, her back slightly more sensitive. God, today was going to be a day, wasn't it? 

"Your back-"

Emma screamed, not loudly, but enough of a yelp as she was pulling down her t-shirt. How was it that Mando, in his full suit of armor, was able to sneak up on her like some sort of rogue? The Force didn't warn her about him. That was twice now that he'd managed to astonish her. "Give a girl a warning," she breathed, heart choking her in the back of her throat, as she tugged the shirt the rest of the way down.

Mando was by the ladder, tilting his helmet, leaning slightly toward her. "Sorry," he grumbled. "We've landed. Did you hit your back?"

It must've started bruising. Emma nodded. "During the dogfight. I rammed pretty hard into the frame of the door to the cockpit. Kid's alright though." She would heal. A little bruising wouldn't be the end of the day, only made it worse.

She bent down to grab the jacket and scarves, only just sliding the jacket on when she felt a hand against her back. Her brows strained, eyes closing shut as her back lamented at the touch. Yet, his touch was soft, not intending to hurt her. "You should stay on the ship and rest."

"And miss out on this new planet?" she retorted, trying to get her second wind for the day. 

"Tatooine isn't that great."

"I think I'll be the judge of that," Emma smarted, turning around to face him, her chest brushing his. Her foot slipped back, startled by how close he was. His hand snapped out, catching her against the small of her back before she lost her balance entirely. While it hurt, barbs of static traced where his palm had landed, her own fingers splayed in surprise and nearly touching his chestplate. 

"You should stay here," he insisted. 

"Is that an order?" Emma asked, raising her eyes to meet his visor, her heart fluttering as his hand remained and their hips nearly touched. Beneath the layer of her jacket, the hairs on her arm stood straight up, and her tongue felt tacky. Tall, impressive, and somehow handsome even if she couldn't see his face. It was all in the leanness of his shoulders, his deep voice, and the hand that still remained pressed against her spine. Then again, she had seen some of what laid beneath the armor, the warm tanned skin, the outline of his muscular abs as she'd stitched him up. Mando had a rousing body, even if she'd only gotten a glimpse while helping him. Funny that she thought of it now after they'd been so close.

"No," he decided, gently releasing her. "If you really want to experience Tatooine-" he let out a long sigh, his own back to her, the cloak fluttering. "Just know, I warned you."

Emma smirked, but could still feel the ghost touch of his gloved hand. Rubbing her ailing back, she turned back to Grogu. "Another arid planet," she clucked, picking him up and setting him into his pram. "I'll scope it out before I decide if it's worthy of your beautiful eyes." She closed the pram, not certain if it was entirely safe for the baby, but it would be irresponsible to leave him on the ship by himself. Draping some of the scarves about her head, she trailed over Mando. "Am I going to go blasterless again?"

He paused, having not opened the door yet. "No. You should take one." Brushing past her, he opened his arsenal, considering what he had in stock before pulling down a slender blaster. "An SC-X30."

Placed into her gloved palm, she turned over the black blaster, stowing a few cartridges and loading the blaster before doing a weapon check. Felt nice not to be unarmed, but it also felt strange, like a bad taste in the back of her mouth. Was it because she was growing partial to the lightsaber in her dreams? Or was there another reason that the blaster felt heavy despite how slender it was? Strapping the holster to her belt, she slid the blaster into place and followed Mando down the dock.

Immediately, her hands fumbled her blaster at the sound of gunfire, startled to see Mando shooting at mushroom capped droids. "W-what?" she stammered, confused and not sensing any immediate danger. She glanced at his shoulders, the tense lining, the furious lining. What, over a few little drum-like robots?

A woman sputtered into view, thick and curly hair flaring like bramble around her face as she wagged an accusing finger at her companion. "If you damage one of my droids, you'll be paying for it!" she snarled haughtily and with good reason. Emma didn't understand why he'd fired a warning shot. 

"Keep the droids away from my ship," he demanded, the warmth and kindness she'd heard just a few minutes earlier replaced with a distantly familiar voice. It was odd, because she'd not heard it in a while, the cold and metallic ring of his human voice being modulated through his helmet. 

"You really think that's a good idea? Ship's got a lot of carbon scoring on the top. Looks like you've been in a shoot out. Surprised you landed the damn thing in the first place," the woman bit back, undeterred by the man standing in beskar. 

"What will 500 Imperial credits buy us?" Mando pressed.

She snorted, turning toward her trio of terrified droids. They shook their bucketheads and the woman's brown eyes flitted back over to the Mandalorian. "That amount should just cover the hangar."

Yikes. Emma hadn't realized the situation they were in, but perhaps should have. They hadn't fueled since Sorgan and the dogfight had been rough. Having not picked up bounties in... what... erring on a few months now? His funds had to be listing low, especially since the coin on Sorgan - as meager as it had been - had been split three ways. Emma thumbed the credits in her pocket, wondering if the small amount she had would be enough to help with the repairs on the ship. She could forego more clothes.

"I'll get your money," Mando promised, his voice relenting just slightly. 

"Pft, heard that before," the mechanic huffed, eyes turning to Emma as she trotted out to follow Mando. "Oh-" she softened slightly. Part of her wondered if a Jedi mind trick would work on this woman, but doubted it given how fierce she had been just moments before. "Hey, womp rat, don't let this one stray too far."

Mando barely replied, tilting his head toward the exit, indicating that Emma was to follow. Drawing her scarf up a little more, she scampered after him quickly, darting her short legs to catch up. He was irritated, his strides long enough that she had to puff to keep in line with him. "Could you slow down?" she complained.

"You don't want to be out here longer than you need to be," he answered, barely relenting.

Unlike Arvala-7, Tatooine was ruthlessly hot. Of course, the other dust ball planet had been hot, but this was completely different. It was absolutely blistering and Emma was suddenly incredibly thankful that she had the green and brown layers on. A slight wind was all it took to whip up the sand, which was fine and grainy. Emma could already feel it on the back of her throat. The loveliness of Sorgan beckoned in the back of her mind as she coughed, swatting the particles away futilely. 

Shielding her eyes, she realized that the planet had two suns, her memory flickering in slight remembrance. Anakin Skywalker had been from Tatooine. He had been a slave before Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon Jinn had found him. Her heart hummed, as if her master was agreeing with her observation. This planet had a lot of history, but was also incredibly dangerous. No wonder Mando had been hoping she'd stay in the ship. 

The sky wasn't blue, just a dusky orange yellow white. With little water to refract, the desert planet sucked the life out of most of its landscape like a greedy vampire. That ugly slug creature had been from here too. But Emma didn't know if it had died yet. Dates meant little to her due to her own lack of knowledge of the Star Wars universe. 

This bar was different from the others. Music lilted from a smokey corner, the first bit she'd heard in a long time aside from the songs she would sing. A bar was situated in the center made of sandstone and glass, a hazy taupe glow emanating from hanging lantern lights. This place had more alcohol that she hadn't seen before, to include spotchka which threw a cerulean glare so bright against the other mundane colors surrounding it. 

Various species, more than she'd seen until this point, loitered around the room. She stared more than she ought to, but she was so startled and curious. Some had prominent brow ridges, huge eyes, others had fur or jowls, and scales, or fangs. Mando nudged her slightly, as if to warn her that she was ogling. It was hard not to! Emma had only known humans and her depth of knowledge of aliens was still quite vague. To think so many creatures of varying shapes, sizes, appearances, and languages existed... it stole her breath away at how little she truly knew. 

"So where are we?" she asked him quietly.

"Chalmun's Spaceport Cantina in Mos Eisley," he answered.

Nodding slightly, she repeated the name in her head a few times, trying to commit it to memory. So many places to see. Even if this was amongst the seedier of those, it was still one of the first places she'd been. Her violet eyes espied people of various professions. Given that it was a spaceport bar, she expected a lot of them were pilots. But amongst that crowd, she could pick out the shadier remnants.

They needed a job, her staring could take place later. After all, Tatooine hadn't been an intentional destination, just a pitstop. "I'll listen on to see if there's work," Emma offered, slipping away eagerly before Mando could tell her no. Sidling between the tables, she got a better look at those she'd been staring at with the freedom of her feet taking her between them. Too many queer languages. 

But she heard a conversation breaking through, an issue with these people called the Hutts who were in need of-

"Hey, what's a doll like you doing here?" the voice was obviously not Mando. He didn't have such comfy pet names for her. The most he'd strayed to was calling her a sergeant in his own language. Turning around, she observed the figure that had spoken to her. 

"Are you talkin' to me?" she retorted, drinking in the visage of her catcaller. A lean man, wearing some kind of uniform. Maybe a pilot. Who knew? She certainly didn't. However, she had her wits about her and knew that Mando probably wasn't far.

"Unless there's someone else in here who's deserving of the name," the human retorted to her amusement. He had a wash of dark curls, haunting blue eyes curving over her frame. "Feel free to point me in their direction."

"Mm," Emma hummed, taking care as she glanced around the bar. "How about that one?" She pointed to an alien with a bulbous head and an elephant-like nose. "Clearly the best looking one here."

"That one's a male," the man chuckled. "Where you from, Silver?" He'd moved closer, her back against a wall, as the somewhat handsome man leaned enough on the wall to shadow her. 

"Theed, Naboo," she retorted quickly, hoping that would suffice.

"Naboo?" he smiled. "Thought you might be part Arkanian by your hair. But Naboo... Y'all don't tend to stray too far from home. What's a Nabooian doing on Tatooine?"

"A girl's got her own secrets, doesn't she?" Emma passed back, edging away slightly as he grew closer. Wow, the one time she could actually use Mando's intimidating presence and he wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"Right," he nodded slowly. "Pardon my pressing, but I really was just curious. Maybe we can get to know each other over a drink and then you might tell me why you're out here on this awful planet instead of back on green Naboo-" he was bold, reaching up to tip her chuck of her chin with the crook of his index finger. 

"It is a big and beautiful galaxy. Most of us live and die in the same corner where we were born and never get to see any of it. I don't want to be most of us," Emma answered, still plying for an exit. But a drink. That would bring her back over toward the counter where she could look for Mando. His arm brushed shoulder and she almost kicked him. God, pushy. This wasn't a rager, why was he being so forward? But it wasn't hard to answer that. She was one of few human females in the entire establishment and likely the youngest.

"Ah, poetic like a true Nabooian too."

He wouldn't know who Oberyn Martell was, but she couldn't take the credit for the words. "Right," she smiled delicately, snapping out with the Force to try and find her Mandalorian. 

"There you are," relief flooded her, the shadow of the stranger faltering as he heard the voice pressed tartly through a modulator. Stepping out of the smoke, the glint of Mando's beskar was the most welcoming sight she could ever hope for.

The pilot turned stiffly, observing Mando through narrowed eyes. "Oh. You with him, Silver?" Surprisingly, he didn't balk as most would have done under the impassive tilt of the Mandalorian's helmet. It took a moment to realize that the pilot was taller than Mando. 

She darted out from underneath him, staggering back next to Mando. "I am-" but the strength in her voice cut short as her companion grabbed her around her waist and tugged her close to his hip. Huffing, her palm pressed against his chestplate, skin burning at his forwardness, but supposed it was to put distance between her and the stranger. Her back ached at the force he applied, still tender from when she'd collided hard against the ship. Her fingers chilled against his armor, despite how humid Tatooine was, static cruising her skin where she pressed against him.

The pilot slunk away, deterred by how Silver had been taken by the Mandalorian in a full ensemble of beskar. Squirming slightly, Emma brushed a wry smile up in his direction. "Thanks. I was wondering where you'd gone. I thought I'd heard someone discussing a job near about-"

But his grip didn't relent. He bowed toward her, his visor almost level with her eyes. "You shouldn't have wandered," his voice was thin and hot, the husk making her skin crawl, glaringly aware that he was still pressing her against him. The rouse was no longer needed and yet here they were and Emma was caught in a mousetrap, unable to do more than flounder in his grasp. "I warned you about Tatooine."

"Mando," she protested, color beginning to creep onto her cheeks. "I was just trying to help."

"I've been doing this for a while, I don't need your help," he reminded her. 

"This?" she gestured down, a laugh bubbling up in the back of her throat when he did a double take. He had to know, the possessive stance, their proximity, the gripping of his hand against her waist almost tugging up the edge of her shirt. Even between the gloves and cloth, she could feel his fingers sinking into her soft skin, probably due to the annoyance of having to intervene.

"You attract too much attention," the warmth of his arm left her, allowing Emma to steal a full breath. Her chest burned and strange warmth pooled against her legs, the realization making her blush. Letting her scarves hide her face, she rolled her shoulders in a slight shrug trying to play off being nonplussed. Who would've thought being decent looking would attract this much attention. Back on Sorgan, now on Tatooine... seemed like it was going to be a tradition. Only depending on the planet, the inhabitants were going to be more bold. 

"Maybe I should get a helmet too then," she joked in an attempt to deflect the slight weakness in her knees. 

"Come, I've found someone who is willing to talk," Mando deferred the subject and turned away from her. Not excited to be solicited again, she followed closely behind him like a shadow, very nearly clinging to his cloak. 

Waiting for them at a table was a young man, perhaps a few years her junior. With dark ringlets and emerald eyes, Emma naturally erred close to her armored companion, worried by the perceptive and plying look of this new stranger. He wasn't bad looking, but given the brush with the pilot, Emma wasn't keen on making any new friends. Especially not when the only person on her mind was Mando, given his brazen display to deter the pilot. Why was that lingering in her mind so much? She'd liked it, fidgeting with her legs beneath the table. The rough, but protective grasp, her hips to his, being so alarmingly close to the tilt of his visor. Christ. She still hadn’t seen this man’s face and just the simple moment had her in a tussy. Maybe it was just a distraction from what had happened on the ship, something to latch onto to forget her memories.

"Name's Toro Calican," the young man introduced with a bawdy smile. "Relax. I'm not going to be as daft as to try and make a move toward your acquaintance." But Emma caught the very brief, flirtatious wink, wondering if Mando had noticed it as well. But observing him, she knew that he was green and inexperienced. Between her own knowledge and the hum of the Force, this man was little more than a boy.

He drew a holoprojector from his pocket, bringing up the image of a woman. While the coins couldn't show colors, they could deign enough shading that Emma could tell that the woman had dark hair and eyes, which were slanted. She looked impressive and battle hardened, the wisdom of those fights in her face. Whoever this way, she was not a simple bounty.

"Picked this up in the Mid Rim-" Toro started, reminding Emma that the galaxy had echelons. Mando had told her about it once, that the Outer Rim was amongst the more spacious and difficult to traverse - the touch of an overarching government hard to employ due to the distance. Mid Rim was more under the control of the New Republic. "This is Fennec Shand, who has been on the run since the New Republic put her employers on lock down."

"I know of her," Mando revealed, reminding Emma duly that the bounty hunter had an extensive amount of knowledge that she only had a fiber of. Naturally, her head tilted toward him, hoping to learn more. 

"From my provisional data, it suggests that Shand is heading out towards the Dune Sea. Should be an easy job," Toro admitted.

If it were easy, then why was he enlisting the help of Mando? Emma sat back, aware that there was more than this boy was willing to admit. Given his confidence to wink at her in front of her partner, she suspected that he had an air of arrogance that was misplaced. 

"Good luck with that," Mando said, brushing her arm to indicate that it was time to leave.

Emma pushed her chair back with a screech.

"Wait-" Toro breathed, halting the pair.

Mando leaned forward, his gloved hands splaying on the table, the same hands that had just recently hooked around her hip. "How long have you been with the Guild?"

The Guild. The same group that had tried to stop him from leaving Nevarro with her and Grogu. Her nerves twinged, a hand naturally erring toward her blaster. This kid couldn't have been with them long or else he'd know that three very valuable bounties were standing right before him. 

"Long enough," Toro lied.

Emma snorted, dropping her hand from her weapon. "Sure."

Toro leveled a haughty glare in her direction, perhaps thinking her younger than him at first.

"No," Mando said simply. "Fennec Shand is an elite mercenary who carved her way to the top by working for various crime syndicates including the Hutts. If you go after her, you won't make it past sunrise."

Brimming with pride that her assumption had been right, she followed after him, only realizing a moment later that they hadn't gotten a job. 

"This is my first job. You can keep all the money. I just want to get into the Guild and I can't do it alone," Toro finally conceded, the original confidence sliding away to reveal the desperate greenhorn. Picked a helluva job for his first. 

Curious if Mando would help the kid, she glanced toward her counterpart, observing his body language. But he nodded slowly, taking her aback. "Meet me at hangar 3-5 in half an hour and bring two speeder bikes. The tracking fob as well-" he held his hand out expectantly.

The brat turned and hurled the fob at the sandstone wall. Shattering into fragments of metal and plastic, Toro grinned wildly. "Don't worry, I've got it memorized."

"Just... meet me in half an hour," Mando grumbled, pressing a palm against her arm, just to be certain she was still nearby. 

"Looks like you're stuck with me," Toro Calican retorted cockily.

Back outside, Emma's eyes traced over to the stormtrooper helmets that were mounted on spikes. They were dusty, dirty, and browned with dried blood. Part of her thought they deserved it, but part of her also felt bad. Sticking close to the Mandalorian, she drew in her scarves to rebuff the invasive sand. "You should be able to take care of this Shand, right?" she asked him halfway back to the hangar.

"As long as the kid doesn't cause any issues," Mando enlightened her.

Emma snorted. "Have fun with that private. Greener than grass."

"You noticed?"

"Mm," she hummed. "Why else would he have asked for help unless he was completely out of his own depth? Bit off more than he could chew and wants to show up to the Guild with a golden prize. Only it'll come back to bite him when he can't handle whatever else they throw his way."

"You trained a lot of soldiers," he suggested.

"No. Not that many. But I was a sergeant, so I did lead a good number," Emma admitted. "We have training corps dedicated to training soldiers. Experience while deployed is another beast."

They were back at the hangar, Mando pausing in the archway to look down at her. "Stay here, please," he insisted, his politeness taking her aback.

"Well, I was hoping to go to the market, but since you asked so nicely-"

"Mars."

"Fine, I'll stay here," she promised, hooking her thumbs into her belt loops. "Just-"

"Come back in one piece and don't die. I know, Ruus'alor."

Emma smiled slightly, not as miffed at his Mando'a as she should have been. He'd only used it to mock her, but in this moment, it felt... warmer. "Right. And also, if you do manage to get hurt again, just tell me so I can take care of you."

He tilted his head slightly, but before he had the chance to speak, the mechanic sauntered up from the ship, wiping grease off her fingers. "I've started the repairs on the fuel leak, but it's taking me a little longer since I don't have the droids to help me. I'll manage-"

"You started working already?" Emma was surprised. The mechanic had seemed so stern on not doing anything until she'd been properly compensated.

"Well," the mechanic started slowly. "I figured he was decent with money if he's got a girl to take care of."

"Oh." Emma's hands twisted together, forgetting the implications that came with the two of them traveling on a ship together. People in this galaxy probably had few reasons to travel with people who weren't passengers or family. As far as anyone knew, her and Mando were an item. Trying not to dwell on it, she tapped her wrist as if there was a watch there. "You've got 10 minutes."

Mando nodded, one glove briskly brushing her arm before he turned away. Sighing, she opened the pram and startled the mechanic by drawing Grogu out of the carriage. He blinked a few times, glancing shyly at the new stranger, trying to hide in her hair and scarves.

"Well, who's this cutie?" the mechanic cooed excitedly.

The mechanic's name was Peli Motto. Emma decided that she liked Peli and her frank, but mischievous personality. Not to mention that she was absolutely taken with Grogu. There were few people who weren't and if they weren't, Emma was keen on getting to know them. If you could stare into those large brown eyes and not feel yourself starting to turn into a puddle, you didn't have a heart. The child had even managed to break through Mando's beskar and she thought him one of the most stubborn people she'd ever met.

"And the fuel line break is here," Peli explained as she worked on the ship, Emma watching with rapt interest. "Said you're from Naboo?" Oh lord, more dreaded conversation about herself. But unlike the stranger in the bar, she didn't feel as pressured to keep up appearances. 

"Mm."

"Must be a lot nicer than here. Wouldn't know, never been. But you hear about, unspoiled, lots of water, the dorky Gungans..." she tightened a bolt and reached for another tool. "Did the Mandalorian turn up on Naboo, whisk you off your feet, and convince you to travel? Wouldn't see any other reason to leave such a nice planet."

"Oh no, nothing like that," Emma insisted, but she smiled in spite of Mando. "I'm a medic. Bounty hunting is a dangerous job, so he needs someone to keep an eye out for him-"

"And someone to watch that foul temper of his. What's his thing with droids anyways?"

Emma honestly did not know. However, given the ferocity he'd reacted with, she suspected that something had happened to him that skewed his view of droids completely. She, herself, was nervous about droids and how perceptive some of them seemed. There weren't creatures like that back on earth, most forms of AI were not put into working skeletons. "Neither of us are fond of droids," Emma offered simply.

"To each their own, I guess," Peli muttered.

"Motto, do you know where I might be able to get more clothes?" Since the mechanic was a local, it might be safer to ask her and maybe offer to toss a few credits in her direction if they skipped along the market briefly. 

"I mean, nothing that'll probably tickle your fancy if you're from Naboo-" Peli remarked, but sat up to consider her. "Why? You ain't got much?"

"I mean, I have enough," Emma backpedaled, realizing how strange it must sound for her to be asking for somewhere to buy clothes. If she was a medic in service of Mando, wouldn't she have brought a bunch of clothes with her? "Ran into some ill luck, as you can see. Been following us for a while."

"You've got credits, right? I'm not fronting anything else than the service I've already done on your ship."

Your ship. Emma repeated that in her head, glancing up toward the Razor Crest. It wasn't hers. She didn't know how to take care of or maintain it in the slightest. Just listening to Peli talk about the parts of the ship had made her blatantly aware of how out of depth she was. Back on earth, she'd known enough about cars to replace a tire and change her oil, but a starship was another beast. "I do," she confirmed.

"Good. In about an hour we'll go. Take care to wrap up all your hair, it'll just attract negative attention."

Right, bright white hair wasn't common amongst this galaxy either. Although, the pilot in the cantina had mentioned Arkanians. Maybe they were a race known for white hair. Either way, without Mando around, she was hoping to be able to slide along without being noticed. Bundling up, she plaited her hair and tucked the braid into her jacket. Adjusting the scarves, her fingers pulled up some around her face as well, deciding that just a slit enough for her eyes would suffice.

Grogu had found his way over to the droids, fussing around with some of the parts. They didn't quite comprehend what to do with him, chittering in their queer language as the baby gurgled. "Alley Oop-" she scooped him up. "Going for a quick run. I know, I know, but it's hot and gross out. Can't leave you here, so you're gonna be in the pram for a bit."

He fidgeted restlessly in her arms, trying to pull down her scarves so that he could see her face. But she was quicker than that, deftly plopping him into his carriage and sealing it. What kind of things did she need? More hair accessories would be nice since she had so much hair. Maybe some toiletries, better boots, new underwear, and a few more changes of clothes? The bag of coins she had felt heavy enough to be able to afford those items, but she was wildly out of depth when it came to market prices.

"Uhm, Motto-" she approached the woman as she began locking up the hangar while they stepped out. "How much do things cost here on Tatooine? I don't usually buy things for the ship, so-" This could go one of two ways - Peli was honest with her or Peli was going to bring her to friends' shops and gouge her. 

"Depends what you're buying, where it's from, how hard it is to come by. Don't get too many luxury imports here, so I hope you're not looking for shimmersilk."

Whatever shimmersilk was, she doubted she could afford it. Back out on the streets, her eyes flitted between the many archways of the buildings, the dome capped tops, and felt vaguely reminded of Aladdin with the desert bazaar that he'd stolen bread from. There was no palace or tertiaries within the city, but Emma got to glimpse a whole lot more of it beside Peli than she had with Mando. In fact, as leery as many of the occupants looked, she noticed children and other locals milling around. A few plinths stood out amongst the mostly short stacks of buildings, the favored colors of the desert folk between brown, tan, off white, and crimson. There were a few dashes of blue, including Peli's own shirt beneath her jacket that was vibrant dark teal.

The market was large, full of shouting vendors, and slightly overwhelming. Emma kept close to Motto, who tilted her head toward a few familiar faces and barked back in strange languages before languishing a grin. 

"What do ya need, kiddo?" 

"Toiletries, a few more outfits, underclothes-"

"You're small and as someone who is also small, let me tell you that finding non-alien clothes is always a hassle. But I know a few places," she smiled, trotting toward a physical storefront rather than the stands. "Most of the crap they're selling out here is trash. Might be able to find some decent parts, but Tatooine is full of scavengers. If there's anything nice to be found, probably was picked up somewhere."

She noticed some Jawas. "What about them?"

"Them?" Peli glanced warily. "Let's try here first."

The store was basically an apothecary, filled with bottles and jars. Between the shelves, a layer of silty sand had blown its way in. Took her a moment to realize that most of them were bath items, since she couldn't read the labels. Picking up one, a dark, shiny liquid inside, Motto pushed it back on the shelf.

"Trust me, unless you're looking to impress some Tusken Raiders, you don't want that," she said quietly, turning around to entreat the shop owner. "Ay, Mama Bo, how've you been?"

The shopkeeper was amongst the oddest aliens she had seen yet. Podgy, plump, blue, and looked like Dumbo if you'd taken a few too many shrooms. Long dopey ears, large black eyes, and a trunk like snout which reached down to its chest. There was something oddly cute about the alien, but it was also massive.

Mama Bo spoke in a foreign language, gesturing to Emma.

"Oh, just a customer who needed to pick up a few items. Hey, Mama, you usually know what pairs well. Mind giving a hand?"

Mama Bo tottered out from behind her counter, sausage-like fingers delicately picking through the shelves. Emma could almost envision the bull in the china shop as the alien lumbered between the aisles of delicate jars and potions. Erring quite close, Mama Bo leaned forward, her trunk tickling the side of her scarf. It was really weird and somewhat invasive, but Emma didn't feel any malice from Mama Bo. 

She trundled off to go find something.

Peli sidled back up, arms crossed as she watched the blue elephant lady. "She knows what she's doing. Makes everything here herself. That trunk of hers has the sharpest nose amongst anyone I've ever crossed. Come here myself when I need to stock up. Nice thing is Mama Bo's prices are reasonable. We've got few artisans here in Mos Eisley, so you learn quick who those are."

Mama Bo returned, uncorking a jar and offering it. Emma nearly swooned, the sappy liquid bringing her back to earth for a moment. A clean smell, like the mineral water of the White Mountains in the Sacco river - cool river stones beneath her feet amongst her childhood with her family, molted with notes of a floral scent reminiscent of honeysuckles in full bloom, sweet enough to lap the nectar out of. How it smelled so closely of home, Emma couldn't comprehend, but she took the bottle and nearly snorted the damn thing.

"I like it," Emma told Peli.

"Told you so... Mama Bo calls it Moon Water."

Emma purchased the Moon Water in soap and shampoo, surprised to find that day to day items like this only set her back 20 credits. Cara had given her about 300, which only scratched the surface of more expensive items like weapons, ammo, and ship parts, but at least it was enough to buy daily items. 

Finding clothes was another endeavor. Tatooine really only sold what would be sufficient for the planet's relentless atmosphere and Emma wasn't certain that all places were going to be hot. A thick cloak and coat might come in handy, but she wasn't going to find that here. Underwear had been easy enough to find, but it was incredibly awkward trying to buy the pieces with the imp-like shop owner watching her. He had a snout for a nose too, but wasn't as adorable as Mama Bo had been.

Instead, he looked like a cross between an elephant seal, a pot bellied midget, and a fugly fairy - greasy and wings fluttering rapidly behind him as Peli ushered him away to give her a semblance of privacy. In her disquiet, she barely looked at what she grabbed, the most plain sufficing. Wasn't as if anyone was going to see them. 

Her heart twinged at the thought, almost as if she could imagine Mando seeing them, but she swallowed the devious thought. They were working together, but since the cantina she'd been a little flustered with him. But it wasn't the Toydarian that made her embarrassed, it was Peli who leaned over. 

"That's it? What about something like this-" she picked up a black piece of lingerie, making a mischievous face. Thanking God that Grogu's pram was still closed and that her own countenance was obscured, she cleared her throat. 

"I told you, I'm just a medic," her voice was tinny and strangled at Motto's suggestion.

"A medic can want to look pretty, even beneath all her layers. Doesn't matter if you got someone to show it to."

But Peli was referring to Mando, there was no doubt about it. Turning away from the mechanic, she purchased simple pieces that ended up setting her back more than the toiletries. Why was it that bras always cost so much damn money? Even in this galaxy they were stupid expensive. Back outside, she saw the Jawas' setup again and the bolts of cloth displayed alongside ship parts.

"Do you speak their language?" Emma asked her.

"Just like many others," Peli admitted. "But we should get back soon. We've been out for a while and I'd hate to return with you and the kid missing and the ship's repairs not done."

"I still need clothes, but it looks like there's some over there."

"Pretty colors, looks like they salvaged these from a wreck," Motto admitted as they approached the stand, picking at a grey blue, iridescent fabric. "Might be from a Core Planet. Some sucker got stranded out here and either ditched the ship or died."

For once, fate was to be kind to her. Whoever these clothes had once belonged to, they had been of a similar build to Emma. Her fingers glossed the fabric, skimming amongst the few short dresses, the cloak, a set of high waisted grey trousers, a light brown top. "I'm surprised it hasn't gone already," Emma admitted.

"It's small. Will probably fit you. Plus, practicality. Some of this might suffice on Tatooine, but most of it won't. Too soft and pretty. Let me see how much they want for it," Peli lifted her hand and craned down toward the gremlins, identical to those she'd met on Arvala-7. "They won't tell me where they got it, but I'm thinking some kind of politician lost their wardrobe. They've had it for so long they're willing to part with it for 200 credits. The lot."

Emma pursed her lips, wondering if that was wise. That'd be almost all the rest of her money. But glancing back down at the clothes, she knew finding stuff that fit her and actually wasn't a bag full of linen and burlap, might be difficult. God had basically laid this right into her hands, as if to say 'Fine, I'll give you a break'. Drawing the rest of her money out with a sigh, she drew back a meager 10 credits that she had left over from the afternoon's spending. 

The Jawas chittered, scooping up all of the clothes, which was actually more than she expected. Perhaps 6 or 7 outfits in total, to include a couple of cloaks, and a set of boots that might not fit. Lugging her haul, they returned to the hangar and Peli set back to work. She put her things on the ship, finding the time to feed Grogu, who was rather moody with her for leaving him in the pram for so long. 

"I know, I'm awful, but I really needed some things," she muttered to him, sitting inside of Motto's cool apartment that was attached to the hangar. 

Grogu gave a complaining huff.

"I know what he said, but we were safe about it, weren't we? Went with Motto and she made certain we didn't find any trouble," Emma returned lightly. "And I didn't return empty handed for you either-" she picked up a small token that she'd gotten from the Jawas for almost nothing. It was a little doll, fashioned in the shape of a fuzzy, bear-like creature. "Don't know what it is and I know it's not shiny like Mando, but-"

Grogu snatched it and held it up, bringing it back down to gnaw on the ear before letting out an excited and thankful gurgle. 

Sighing slightly, she placed her palm on his head and gave him a reassuring brush. Mando. She hoped everything was alright. She'd been able to distract herself for most of the day, but now that she thought of him again, her appetite fled. Fennec Shand seemed like a dangerous woman. What would she do if he didn't return? Emma couldn't fly the starship and also didn't know where to start when it came to navigating the galaxy. 

"Emma," Peli had returned, wiping her greasy hands on a cloth, cocking a warm smile as she glanced down at Grogu. "Why don't you hop over to my washroom? Bit more elbow space in there than on your ship. I'll keep watch on bright eyes over here."

She didn't like leaving Grogu with someone she barely knew, but Peli had a few chances already to get her into some trouble. But she relented. There was nowhere in the galaxy that Peli could hide if she stowed the child away somewhere and Emma would only be in the other room. "I'd appreciate that," she admitted with a weary smile, her back still aching, and exhaustion setting in from worrying. Even back on Sorgan she'd been worried and they hadn't been facing a highly capable assassin.

Snatching up some of her new, freshly cleaned, clothing, she took up Peli on the offer. The Razor Crest did have a shower, but the 'fresher was barely more than a powder room. It was big enough for Mando to fit in it, so obviously she had ample room, but it definitely was claustrophobic. Motto's abodes weren't top of the line, but having room inside the shower to move and enjoy the water as it pinged against her bruised back, she sighed, scrubbing the Moon Water shampoo through her long hair. 

The aroma made her woozy, leaning against the stone wall, exhaling deeply. Funny how she missed parts of earth, but not the people themself. She had loved wilderness, the beauty of the mountains, and the clean air. It was why she was eager to bounce between planets, to experience each new ecosystem in kind. Mando had a better idea of the fauna and flora, but Emma liked to make up silly names with Grogu in place of her lack of knowledge. 

A tickle in the back of her throat made her pause, turning the shower off, the Force humming with a premonition. A knock startled her, wondering if she'd taken too long and been rude to use so much of Peli's water. It was certainly a commodity here. Grabbing the towel, she hastily began drying herself off, another - more insistent and forceful knock - banging hard against the door. She thought back to Reynold's mug, muttering, "I've got a bad feeling about this," to herself. 

"Just a minute-"

"Medic, we need a medic-" it was Toro Calican's voice, her eyes stretching as she grabbed the blue dress she had, foregoing the grey trousers and even a bra at this point as her heart hitched into her throat. He sounded desperate and the Force had warned her of something. What if Mando had gotten hurt? Modesty didn't matter at that point, not when her Mandalorian could have been maimed by the assassin.

Emma flung the door open, her hair dripping all over her, feet bare and calves exposed. "Where is he?" she demanded, trying to glance by the young man's chest which blocked the view outside the door frame. But he didn't move and the Force nearly screamed in her ears as she was shoved back hard, checked into the sink beside her. She fell to the ground, her skin pulsing where her injury was, starbursts of light blotting her vision as she reached tenderly around to her back. But she didn't have the chance to touch it, hauled back to her feet by her throat.

"I was thinking you were a bit too pretty to be hanging around with a Mandalorian. But now, I can see you're certainly some kind of royalty. Must be why there's such a large bounty over your head," Toro said, his face twisting in amusement as she squirmed, trying to scrabble her toes against the ground as he held her up like a ragdoll. "Shand told me everything."

Obviously not if he thought she was royalty. But her clothes... the new clothes that she had bought. Of course he'd assume that she'd always had them and now that she was wearing the blue dress, it must've seemed blatant that she wasn't just a medic touting beside the Mandalorian. "Where is he?" she squeaked, trying to draw a breath, but struggling as her vision began to blur around the edges.

"Oh, he'll be coming," Toro assured her. "He's part of the bounty too. But I figured I might as well get here early. Give him a little surprise, you know? Didn't expect to find the princess bundled up so nicely for him. What do you see in that tin suit? Has he shown you the man beneath the armor?" he continued, pushing her slightly against the wall which allowed for her to level her soles toward and steal a choking breath of air. He tightened his fingers against the sensitive flesh of her throat. "The things I'd've done to you if we shared a ship. That's why you're with him, I expect, ran away from home with the mysterious Mandalorian. A little bit of excitement before you're dragged back to whatever Core planet you belong to."

Emma's skin crawled at the way he was talking to her, the suggestions he was making, the inferences of their relationship and this bout of history that wasn't even true. Maybe she could use the Force, push him back, free herself long enough to- A hand trailed up her exposed leg where the petaled front of her dress had rode up against the wall. There was nothing seductive or attractive about this, nor the manner in which she was being forced into submission. It was a power trip, the excitement of having the Mandalorian's petite companion in his grasp, writhing. Especially since she had scoffed at him just a day ago.

"Loth-cat got your tongue, princess? Maybe later, when we have time, I'll show you what a real man is like. Not that cold suit of armor you've been shacked up with," his hand reached her hip, tracing the line of her underwear and snapping the band. 

Emma scrunched her eyes shut, smashing her lips together as she tried not to cry out. 

"Oh, that's no fun," he complained, noticing that she was shaking. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not unless you do something that warrants it. Just be a good princess, it'll be over soon."

He dragged her out of the bathroom, binding her hands behind her back, and trussing her up beside Peli and the baby. She scrambled her legs, trying to pull down her skirt that did her no favors. It was supposed to be worn with a pair of pants, but she'd been in such a rush to help, that she didn't realize she'd stumbled right into a trap. Her skin still crawled where he'd touched her, the disconcerting burn against her flesh, the promise of more to come. 

Emma Mars had experienced a lot in her life, but she'd never experienced this before. She'd always had her dignity and pride, even after she'd been shot, even after she'd lost soldiers in the field, and even when she had been discharged. No one had ever touched her that she hadn't invited or been keen on. There'd always been that division of power, her stance as a Staff Sergeant that duly reminded others that she wasn't to be treaded on. Even on the Imperial ship, while they might've been coarse, they'd never touched her - likely due to their own protocols that they had to follow.

But now, Emma was afraid, unable to do anything as her hands were stuck behind her back. If they were free, she might've been able to cause hell. For someone who had been brought across galaxies because of her promise, she felt entirely powerless as they waited for Mando to arrive.

* * *

**Author Break**   
  


I’m totally an outfit dork and decided to give Emma a break so she can look like the pretty, space-touting earthling princess she deserves to be _*ugly sob*_. (And because it'll just cause tons of problems for Din and I love it) Also, I adore some of Daenerys’ more practical travel clothes, so we're just gonna toss that right into the bucket.

Here is the outfit that she’s got on now | [link](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/5b/10/6b/5b106b151a399239218ab4ca5268f071.jpg) | which in the full getup is better known as this as well | [link](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/fa/73/d1/fa73d16a29611c844cecec990551d4da.jpg) | and makes for good travel attire in mild conditions.

Minus the cloak, since she didn’t get the chance to put it on.

Here’s a glimpse of a few more that I thought fit within the confines of the Star Wars universe - [Outfit 1](https://www.dolldivine.com/users/e/en/449200/2017-07-23_15-15-27--76_102_219_202--Member-Submitted.jpg) | [Outfit 2](https://patternvault.files.wordpress.com/2012/11/costume_daenerys_targaryen_qarth_s2.jpg) | [Outfit 3](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/d9/79/fe/d979feaac19f69486b82ea449857cd67.jpg) | [Cold Weather](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/d8/14/e7/d814e7896c72035ba5c9fe3f7dd664d2.jpg) |


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only cause y'all asked.
> 
> EDIT: Edited 1/16/21 in regards to Din's lack of knowledge with bullets.

_"It ain't what you don't know that gets you in trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so."_

* * *

That day could only get worse. Between the scare on the ship and Tatooine's undeniable charm, Din was growing increasingly weary. He already knew that Emma's appearance was going to draw eyes, just as his beskar did, but how much attention was the question he didn't have an answer for. Even peeking out from behind roughspun green and brown scarves, her bright eyes cut through the fog of the cantina. But he recalled them just an hour before, when they'd been unseeing, strained, and fearful. She had been calling out for Reynolds, a fallen comrade. 

Din knew what was happening, the flashbang that had accidentally gone off when the child had pilfered it from the storage. It'd kicked a chain of events, igniting a memory. He knew. He knew because it happened to him sometimes. All those years ago, back on his home planet before the Separatists sent the battle droids in to massacre the unarmed civilians. He'd never talked about it to anyone and was not surprised she didn't want to talk about it either. Memories like that hurt to think about, let alone to relive and acknowledge through words. But his own memories never blinded him in the way that it'd done for Emma. 

Painfully ashamed, she'd tugged away, immediately trying to deflect and go back to normal. But there was no normal. Those memories would always be there and Din didn't know what to say or do to make her feel better. Since leaving Sorgan, she'd calmed back down, but he lingered on the original words she'd had for him. Even if she was cordial, he expected that she might think he didn't want her there. So, he kept the comfortable distance, allowing for routine to slide over the ship, thinking back to the song she'd lilted to Grogu. 

_"Now we're back to the beginning_

_It's just a feeling and now one knows yet_

_But just because they can't feel it too_

_Doesn't mean that you have to forget."_

Closing his eyes, he saw the two of them, his medic and the child. He'd come back every time, even if this was all there was between them. But he was beginning to push the envelope, stealing brushes and touches. In an attempt to comfort her. Or so he told himself. Truthfully, he wanted to touch her, wanted to trace the bruises on her back as she'd been pulling down her shirt. So small and beautiful, a little song bird. Of course, she could chirp annoyingly when she pleased, but those wry words were just a part of her and her concern. He doubted he'd ever hear her straight out tell him that she was worried, but he gleaned it from her huffing

If every time they went into a cantina meant that he had the chance to pull her close to him, he might not mind as much. Only the prying glances of strangers, roaming her frame, undressing her - he minded that. Din had glimpsed parts of her, her bare legs, her exposed back, her stomach when she'd pulled her shirt up to rub her bloody nose. The woman had little shame when it came to revealing flesh, but the desensitized nature of this bespoke being accustomed to dressing and undressing around others; other soldiers. He couldn't relate to this, the Mandalorians were all rather private, especially amongst his Tribe. 

Did it miff him? No, not really. He wasn't coy and he'd seen a woman's nude body before. It had been a while, but he was able to control himself so as not to betray her trust in him. Didn't mean he didn't think about it later, imagine the other parts he hadn't seen, doing just what he hated others for doing. But Cara had struck much closer to home than he cared to admit. He liked her. He liked them both. The little pair of white haired troublemakers. Despite the uncertainty of the future, Din Djarin was going to make it work. What would he have done if it had been safe to leave them on Sorgan?

His body ached, grumbling as he went out to retrieve the dewback that the greenhorn hadn't been keen on doing himself, worried that Din would betray him and take Shand for himself. Little did the kid know, he couldn't turn in the bounty even if he wanted to. The sting of where the sniper shot had grazed his armor made him rotate his shoulder. Did Emma know any healing that would make his muscles feel better? Or was he just getting old?

Cresting the rock, his eyes narrowed, brows furrowing beneath his helmet, tendrils of dawn beginning to snake up along the flat horizon. Calican was not there. But there was a body, Shand abandoned and bound. He didn't have time to bother with her, expecting that she had tried to coerce her way out of the bindings and informed Toro that Din and his companions were a much better prize than her. The medic and the child. He mounted the speeder bike and kicked it into gear, heat rising in his chest, wondering what the arrogant kid was playing at. 

Would he be so stupid as to threaten his own? Din had been hasty, deciding to help the new hunter that he humored. The kid wanted an in and the money would have been good. Now, he'd needlessly endangered Emma and Grogu, leaving them behind like sitting ducks. She had her wits about her, so he hoped her magic would help her. He did leave her with a blaster and she knew how to shoot, but he duly reminded himself that he'd not seen her kill anyone other than the alien in the pass on Arvala-7. She healed, she didn't kill unless it was absolutely necessary. He knew she had a distaste for it after she muttered about killing a child during war.

But for the love of the galaxy, he hoped she'd killed Toro Calican.

Dawn was swapped for night, the stars winking down as his breath pinged against his helmet, their light reminding him of Emma's hair. The hangar was dark, his visor tilting down to observe the pit droids cowering in a corner. His stomach sank, fingers brushing his blaster as he stepped toward the lodgings, noticing a single faint light. Inside, Calican stood haughtily, drawn up as if he were the most impressive thing that eyes could behold. His arrogance was punctuated by the slender figure he had in his grasp.

Emma trembled, her legs pressed together as she wore a dress he'd never seen before. The skirt had rode up, baring the tops of her thighs, the folded front erring dangerously close to revealing more than just her legs. Her hair tumbled down, a damp mess, her hands bound behind her back. Calican had a blaster barrel pressed against her milky neck, another hand drawn abominably against her stomach, clinging to her hip to force her tight against him.

"Took you long enough," Calican complained. "I'm calling the shots now-" he moved the gun slightly, causing Emma's head to tilt back, eyes pressing shut as she pursed her lips. 

The action had the intended effect, Din's heart clenching at her silent distress, taking a menacing step forward as he considered his options. Beside them, Peli Motto and the child were trussed. He'd already been annoyed by Toro on the Dune Sea, having to deal with the kid's impudence, but this was an entirely different beast that was beginning to claw its way up to the surface. He had a short temper, but this wasn't just a temper that burned through him. He was going to kill Calican, wipe the smugness right off of his face. If he weren't so keen on getting Emma out of his grasp, he'd put more effort into making Toro suffer, but that wasn't the priority. 

"Drop your blaster and I won't hurt the princess."

Princess? His eyes went back to her, wondering where Toro had gotten that idea. But he came to a slight comprehension. She had delicate and refined features, too exotic to be simply common born. Given the new attire she'd acquired while they were out, Calican drew the inference that she was royalty or of noble blood. He could see it. She was a vision when she wasn't being threatened, but even as his eyes traced her now, the flush of her cheeks and fluttering of dark lashes, he thought she could be an earth princess. He didn't know what their humans looked like aside from what he knew of Emma.

A shootout would only put the hostages in danger.

Removing his blaster, he slowly and carefully set it on the ground, but his fingers grazed his bandolier, drawing an item in his left hand. He hoped this wouldn't do what it had done on the ship, but he had few other options. 

"Go. Bind him-" he jerked his blaster in the direction of the mechanic, tossing a set of cuffs. Uncertainly, she got to her feet and started trotting toward him, bowing her curly head before taking notice of the flash charge he had obscured in his hand. "Did you really think that you'd get away with being a Guild traitor? I mean, I can't entirely blame you, but it was stupid. Could've just fucked her and turned her in-"

"I don't think you're stupid," Peli muttered as she lifting the bindings, taking as much time as looked reasonable.

"Fennec was right that bringing you in would not only make me a member of the Guild, but legendary. I'll take care of the princess for you, real good care of her-" he lifted his blaster from her throat for the first time to tilt it toward him and Din reacted. Throwing the flash forward, his visor translated the explosion of light. What blinded the rest of the room, did not blind him. 

He made out as Emma bucked, using the distraction to flail out of Calican's grasp while he reached up to cover his eyes. Swiping up his blaster, he turned it on Toro before he could recover, pulling the trigger with a loud twang. It was a much swifter death than he deserved, but Din just wanted Emma and Grogu to be safe. But he couldn't err prematurely. He strode over, checking Calican for any sign of life, and once confirming, turned to look back at his companions. Emma had nudged up beside Grogu, still bound, but receptive and looking around the room.

He came beside them, kneeling to unbind her wrists. The moment he had, he was startled as she threw her arms around his neck, forcing his head against her shoulder. A short breath escaped his mouth, his hesitating fingers sliding down to encircle her, drawing her closer. He hadn't thought that she could be rattled, but whatever had happened leading up to his arrival, made him wonder. Too close for comfort. 

"Are you in one piece?" she asked, just beside his helmet, her voice breathy and futilely making an attempt to deflect and sound stronger than she felt. But beneath his beskar and muscles, he could feel her quivering. He held her tighter.

"I'm fine," he promised her gruffly, little worried about himself, and more about what Calican might've done before he arrived. 

He knew she doubted that, even though he was fine. It took a moment, but she drew a few, deep steadying breaths and tugged away. Her skin had flushed where it had been exposed to his frigid beskar, a hand tugging the skirt down. Peli was standing with the child in her arms, trying to soothe the disturbed child, whose ears had tucked down his eyes wide and watery. To be subdued, to watch that bastard manhandle his guardian, to see the suppressed fear on her face.

"Guessing you didn't get paid," Peli realized, huffing a sigh. 

Calican had coins on him. Standing, he retrieved them and passed them over to the mechanic. Her face brightened immediately, eyes daring to glance back down toward the corpse. "I'll have the pit droids drag his body to Beggar's Canyon."

Din took the child from her, running his hand along the kid's head, making certain he was unscathed. He hated Tatooine. Nothing good had come of this planet and he didn't know what else he could have expected. This place was a shit hole. Emma stepped away, returning a few moments later with her legs covered and shoes on. The hue of the dress complimented her fair complexion, but he was still puzzled as to where she'd gotten it. Not that he disliked it, but the material and make didn't fit Tatooine.

Parting ways with Peli Motto, he was pleased to see that his ship had been fully repaired. A bundle of clothing sat in a bag near the bunk, causing him to tilt his helmet toward Emma as she took the child. 

"I thought I told you to stay in the hangar."

Emma managed a slightly abashed, but coy smile. "I needed more clothes. I didn't go on my own. Peli escorted me."

Just thinking about her walking through the bazaar, her pale hair streaming, the eyes following her made him groan. Not because it was a pretty picture, but because she could have been attacked without him anywhere nearby. 

"I covered up," she added. "My hair and face."

"You're going to have to do that more often," he warned her, but his eyes listed over the dress, the delicate curve of her neck, how it hugged her slender waist in the right places. Flecks of gold striped the bodice, her violet eyes striking in contrast. She was a breath of color amongst the ship, standing straight - regal. The idea of her being a princess becoming glaringly more blatant in the manner she carried herself. These mannerisms were that of a soldier, but the line of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin, in tandem with the natural prettiness made her command an air of respect. "Where did you find these clothes?"

"Jawas. Must've found some noble woman's wardrobe. The outfits were so small that the Jawas basically gave them away. I used the money from Sorgan to get things that I needed," Emma elaborated, reminding him duly that he'd not seen if there were any feminine items she might require. She only had two sets of clothing before this - the dress from Sorgan and the outfit Kuiil had given her on Arvala-7. He hadn't thought much about it, but felt a bit bad that he hadn't suggested looking for more appropriate attire. Despite disobeying his order, she'd done what she had to. 

"It's a good think you're a little krill or else you'd still be stuck with the same clothing," he told her, thinking of the krill that made spotchka. The blue was almost reminiscent of their hue, though a bit richer.

Emma threw a narrow glance at him, but her lips curved up slightly. "Little krill," she grumbled.

Leaving her down below to unpack with the child, he went up to the cockpit and started the ship, wondering where they might go next. He was erring dangerously low on credits and had two more mouths to support. He was confident that he could find work, leave the pair on the ship with a comlink, and return to Emma's healing hands if required attention. Just thinking of that, the idea of having family to return to and the steady hands of the petite woman made him shiver. Especially as he saw her visage not framed by baggy clothing, but by well tailored dresses that bespoke her standing. At least in his eyes. The enigmatic earth soldier-princess.

She trotted up alone eventually, a shimmering cloak drawn around her shoulders as she took a seat in the co-pilot's seat. Her eyes traced the sky as they left the atmosphere, brightened by the starlight as she caught her breath. Still, the wonders of the sky awed her. "Where are we going next?" she asked finally.

Din had a few ideas, but none of them were great. "We need credits. There are a few contacts I can reach out, none that are savory," he told her, listing the ship and turning his seat slightly to look at her. 

"You say it as if the Guild and bounty hunters are the gold standard," she teased, curling her lips up gently as she looked down toward him. 

"Compared to the other options..."

"Wow, must be some class A scum then."

"The one that's the closest, his name is Ranzar Malk. Group of mercenaries that will take any sort of job and pay for it. There's no code binding them like the Guild. But they also won't ask questions."

"If they're bound by no code, then wouldn't they have no qualms about turning us in?"

"They don't usually hunt bounties. They're more of a dispatch team for heists. Often, the people there have bounties on their own heads and couldn't risk turning another bounty in."

"Ah," she hummed, tapping her fingers against her exposed arm. "Just what I like to hear - you having to take part in a heist with a bunch of dishonorable mercs."

"You sound almost worried," he teased, but watched as her eyes softened so much that the smile fell off his face. She couldn't see any of it, but his shoulders eased slightly. 

"Of course I worry, you idiot. I have a knack for thinking of the worst thing that could happen because of how life's treated me so far."

"You're alive," he managed through a strangled voice. Hearing her say it, confirming what he suspected, made his heart beat erratically. 

"In a galaxy, far, far away-" she said with a wry smile, as if that meant something more than he could comprehend. "I don't fear death. I grew up with soldiers. I learned to die a long time ago. I fear for the death of others."

And she had seen death and its many faces. Allies, enemies, friends. Everyone feared death in one way or another and Din understood the depth of her words. But they cast a dark shadow over the cockpit, the admission for someone so young, so achingly close to him. Offering comfort in this moment was inappropriate, reminding him slightly of sitting with another Mandalorian. Ironic how despite the galaxies between them, that two people of vastly different cultures could relate to these raw thoughts. The thoughts of warfare. 

"You know," she started, shifting the subject. "You never did prove that you were back in one piece."

Hanging on those words, he stared at her, the intention of her meaning alluding him momentarily. She remained in her seat, but he was reminded of the time she'd demanded he take his chestplate off so that she could sew him up. Violet irises were hooded slightly, her legs crossed as she waited expectantly.

"I didn't sustain any injuries," he said awkwardly. "The beskar blocked a sniper shot-" Oh, he shouldn't have said that. No sooner than he'd said it did she sit straight up. 

"It didn't go through your armor?" 

"No, beskar is stronger than that."

"But-" her brows pushed together. "You'd have me believe that you're 'perfectly' fine after taking a sniper shot? Look, I don't know much about caliber or the strength of beskar, but I do know some of physics. Your body still absorbed the brunt of that strike even if it didn't wound you. Where were you hit?"

"Beskar is nigh indestructible."

"You're not."

Silence hung between them as she leaned over her seat, waiting for an answer. "It hit my right pauldron, but-" she jumped to her feet, padding over to him, bending down to inspect his armor for as much as a scratch. She wouldn't find it.

"You were hit by a sniper shot here?" she poked his armor, the tender muscle underneath aching. "It's not even marked. Wow. That's amazing-" she gave the beskar a harder look. 

"You don't have anything of similar quality on earth?"

She snorted. "No, not even close. Not anything that could be shaped into armor. We have ballistics and metal plates, but they're very heavy and can't always stop a bullet if the integrity is ruined. The stronger the caliber, the less likely the metal will stop it. Our bullets are made of metal, not... lasers."

Metal bullets? He'd seen Tusken slugs, but these sounded different. "Doesn't sound like you can carry a lot of rounds."

"Oh no, you can't. Not compared to blasters. Blasters can shoot further too before gravity affects the pull of the shot too. Bullets have a different curvature."

"Depends on the planet."

"What?"

"The curve of the shot. Depends on how the percentage of gravity."

"Oh great, another thing to worry about," she grumbled, still staring at his beskar. 

"Your shoulder, that's a bullet scar?" He had assumed as much, but hadn't confirmed it until this point.

Emma grazed her shoulder and nodded. "7.62, hollow point," realizing he didn't know what that meant, she dropped her hand. "It's the size of the bullet. Calibers are measured in millimeters. For example, I used an assault rifle called an M4-16, which took 5.56. About this big-" she held a couple of fingers a little less than two inches apart. "But the casing is not what's measured, the head of the bullet which dislodged when the firing pin ignites the gunpowder-" she leaned against the dash, delving into the details of how guns on earth worked. 

He listened with rapt attention, her gestures, the knowledge she possessed in the subject as she rattled off in reply to his questions. Earth had similar weapons, but they all revolved around propulsion from an ignition source, typically gunpowder or some other incendiary that propelled the shot. The topic opened up a lot more than he had originally been intending. Not really a can of worms, but Emma kept talking. 

"And then, that was my first task as an 18 year old medic, fresh out of my AIT training. Kid was missing his finger because he'd thought it was a bright idea to clean dirt off the flash suppressor of his rifle while he was leaned against it-" there was a wistful smile on her face, but not because she was laughing at the fact that the private had hurt himself. The memory wasn't bad, even if it was hilariously unpleasant. "Sorry, I've been rambling. How young do Mandalorians begin training?"

He hadn't minded, watching her hips cant against the dash, her face smiling toward him as she kept up an energetic conversation. While he'd talked to her before, helped her understand more about the galaxy, this was different. She was sharing and enthusiastically so. "Usually about 7 years old. Fathers will take their sons under their wing, mothers their daughters. If there are no sons, the father will train the daughter as a son. There is a saying - _'Ke barjurir gar'ade, jagyc'ade kot'la a dalyc'ade kotla'shya.'_ Train your sons to be strong, but your daughters to be stronger."

"So, you began your training around 7 with your father?" she deduced.

"No," his voice dropped, her head tilting in slight confusion. "I was a foundling. Mandalorians adopt orphans and raise them as their own. I was such."

"That's amazing," Emma breathed, taking him aback. He might've expected her to question him, to puzzle about how he wasn't truly Mandalorian because he wasn't born on Mandalore. But... she didn't know all those things. "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the blood of the womb. I always felt closer to my fellow soldiers than I ever felt to my own family."

Perhaps her army was similar, taking teenagers and honing them in different jobs. She'd explained how there were dozens of jobs, each with their own niche or MOS. It seemed like an enormous military, with different factions like the Navy, Airforce, and Marines. "Were there special units?" he changed the subject, hoping not to seem hasty, but Emma perked back up at the chance to throw more information at him.

"Yes, there were. In the Army there were special operations units, Green Berets and Rangers to name a couple. But if there were any who might even come close to your own abilities, it'd be the Navy SEALs," she hummed thoughtfully, tracing a hand under her chin as she glanced up, thinking back fondly. "Even then, you're a pilot too. The amount of stuff that's required to be known in this galaxy is crazy."

"Did you know any Navy SEALs? That's a different branch from your own, isn't it?"

She nearly slipped right off the dash, catching herself quickly. "I'm fine!" she squeaked, polar to her mellow confidence. "I met some of them once. When I was 19 and on my first deployment."

"Did you get to see any in action?"

Her face went beet red. "I was a medic for the army," she reminded him, closing her eyes as she drew a deep breath. "My own posting was amongst my fellow soldiers. I only witnessed their training on post."

Why had her face gotten so red? The corner of his lip twitched. "Perhaps a different kind of action then," he suggested perceptively.

Emma's mouth dropped open. " _Mando_!" she protested loudly, reaching a palm up to cover her lips as she couldn't even look at him. Absolutely flustered.

A deep chuckle resounded from his vocoder. It wasn't often that the medic lost her composure, but he'd touched a nerve, breaking up her encouraging amount of conversation. His eyes traced her slender form, slouched against _his_ dash. He hadn't thought much about it, her knees almost close enough to brush his, a scant few inches separating them as they talked. He'd gleaned so much more about earth in those moments, but that wasn't at all what he'd enjoyed about all of this. 

"A girl doesn't kiss and tell," she huffed finally, crossing her arms petulantly. 

That was admission enough. He snorted at her poor attempt to deflect, thinking of the type of man that'd have to impress her. She'd only been 19, but he thought back to - _'But if there were any who might even come close to your own abilities, it'd be the Navy SEALs'._ She was comparing her humans to him. Even then, she'd admitted that there was nothing like beskar and that the SEALs were similar to him, but not him. 

"I should go check on Grogu," she decided, sliding down from her slight perch on the dash. "Oh-" pausing, she glanced back at his shoulder and the original subject they'd been on... more than an hour ago. "Your arm."

"I'm fine," he repeated. 

Twisting her lips wryly, her lashes fluttered against her cheekbones. "Right. Let me take a look. It's difficult to see anything with the armor in the way. Your shoulder could be dislocated."

"You think I would have been able to do anything with a dislocated shoulder?"

"I don't know, Mando, you surprise me every day. I know you're not made of beskar beneath that cloth, so just show me."

Din grumbled, but as her skirt brushed against him, he felt his stubbornness err for just a brief moment. Perhaps it was the conversation having lightened him up, that he reached up and worked the bindings in place for the pauldron. 

Her fingers assaulted him no sooner than the beskar was gone, rolling dexterously against the cloth. Stifling a moan, he held his breath. It kriffing hurt, the muscles sore from taking the impact of the sniper shot and here she was rubbing it raw. "Mars-"

"Christ, you're stiff. No wonder why you're so grouchy all the time," she commented, her fingers curling, kneading into his flesh. Din Djarin nearly turned into a puddle, the pressure she applied working the knots beneath thick padded cloth. 

"I'm not grouchy all the time," he grumbled breathlessly as her thumb traced against the inside of his shoulder blade. 

"Ok, only half the time then. The other half you're broody," she retorted, straining her own muscles to ease the pain in his shoulder. "I'm guessing the rest of your back is like this. Mando, you need to stretch more often. Between wearing that armor and fighting, tight muscles will end up getting you hurt. I'm no masseuse, but if you want I can help you-"

That darling offer again, to help him, to fix him. Head lolling forward as she prodded a stiff muscle close to his neck made him jolt. The idea of having her hands roam more than his one shoulder making him hotter than he already was. It was an innocent offer, but Maker did it feel good. "No-" he snatched her hand, ending the healing touch of her knuckles grinding against his aching body. Coming to his senses, he felt exposed, letting her touch him like that.

She was unimpressed, flicking her eyes down to where he gripped her wrist. "Are we going to do this again?" she asked flatly. "You're annoying. I can tell that your shoulder is hurting you. Why won't you just let me-"

"Because."

"Because why, Mando? I know not to remove your helmet, but let me help you. I'm not doing my job if you're over here creaking like you need to be oiled."

Because it made him feel more than exposed. Loud in his ears, his heart was throbbing. His visor was level with the bodice of her dress, the delicate curve of the fabric hugging her breasts. Attention having shifted completely, a terse silence sat between them as he held her arm. If he removed his beskar, let her fingers roam his back, work him piece by piece, he didn't think he could control himself. 

"Earth to Mando."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din being stupid again. Yay ! Starts to let someone in and then gets all tense again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey darlings, you all are so positive and sweet! I just wanted to thank you all again and let you know that you're more than welcome to ask me any sorts of questions. As many know, I answer all reviews no matter if it's just emojis or encouragement. 
> 
> You guys are the best~!

_ "Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is." _

* * *

God he could be so aggravating. She'd felt the corded, stiff muscles in his shoulder and knew they'd need a good working. Having stiff shoulders was not pleasant and she had her own routine of stretches to make certain she didn't get to the point where Mando was. He had seemed to be enjoying it, but suddenly lashed out, refusing to let her do anymore.  _ Annoying _ . All she needed was for him to throw his shoulder out because of these tense muscles. So she devised a plan, a way to try and catch him and force him to let her help. 

They were still on their way to the Ranzar Malk scumbag. From what she understood on the dash, they had a couple of days before they'd arrive. Mando followed a pretty regular schedule on the ship, it had been easy to glean it, because she'd worked around it before to let him get some time with his helmet off, to eat, and to shower. But now, she had to time it to ambush him when he didn't have his ensemble of beskar on. That'd be right after a shower, which she knew was about to happen because he'd ask for a fresh change of clothes in his bunk, typically before she set down for the night.

Sitting on the bunk, she drew in a deep and practiced breath, facing her palms up as she considered her training with her master. He had been teaching her many things, including on how to focus her emotions in a positive manner - to be a weapon of justice. But there were other things, other abilities that were important before devoting entirely to Vaapad. These included techniques like shatterpoint, being able to find an opponent's weakness and wield it against them. Sometimes that weakness was a spot on the body. Other times it was an idea, a person, a thing. For droids, shatterpoint could be used to find the chink in their armor and break them. For people... well, her master had explained that she should only use shatterpoint on enemies, because it was incredibly invasive to do it to friends or allies.

She'd insisted that he teach her more combat with her hands until she found a way to acquire a lightsaber. The brush with Calican shouldn't have happened. She had not listened to the Force properly and let herself be beguiled by false words. Had she not panicked, she would have realized she was being deceived. Additionally, she would have been faster and stronger than Toro if she had lent her body to the Force. Woulda. Shoulda. But she  _ coulda _ . Her master went over the encounter, drilling into her head what she could have done differently. However, Emma hadn't grown up with the Force like Grogu. This was all very new and she was being fast-tracked by a mysterious Jedi Master.

The Force had always been in her intuition, in her compassion, but using it as a weapon and weaving it into her very essence was new. Translating these skills to real life was difficult, because she was afraid of falling. Making an attempt to do something and failing miserably as if she didn't have the Force to begin with. What if she relied on the Force and it didn't work? But doubt was the seed of failure. Her master told her so. She had to be more confident.

She wanted to help Mando. If she could hold her own, make certain he didn't have to worry about her on the field, then she could accompany him as a true combat medic. Right now, she was simply a medic, too frail and weak to risk bringing along. And if she became good enough, she could teach Grogu too. 

The shower in the 'fresher stopped. 

Focusing the Force around her, she scried outside the door, trying to see what was going on. Her vision wasn't picture perfect. No, it was more like shapes and ideas, not refined details. She could sense the shockwaves as activity happened, know the form of the ship as it was, and then place the movement to people. After a moment, the 'fresher door opened. Now. 

Emma sat up and opened the door, pretending to casually stretch out of the bunk as she caught Mando frozen by the storage crate. Her prediction had been right, but it'd also been wrong. Fortunately, above all else, he had his helmet on. She didn't know how the heck he could suffer it after washing his hair, but he tilted the visor toward her, leering.

He was only in a t-shirt, trousers, and socks. Her appearance had interrupted his routine, his private time, but she rationalized that he was being a brat - so she'd honor him with similar behavior. 

"Oh," she tried to sound surprised, but her voice betrayed her as she stood up and closed the bunk behind her. "Sorry, I'm not bothering you, am I? I was a bit thirsty." She trailed over toward him, toward the storage where the potable water was kept. 

"Mars."

With that short name. He'd never once called her Emma to her face. But it was fine. She'd heard Mars more in her life than her first name. "How are your shoulders feeling?" she inquired lightly, filling up a cup. "You know, they still look a little tense."

"Mars," he repeated, the vocoder puffing out a warning erring toward the edge. "Did you plan this?"

Emma pretended to look affronted. " _ Me _ ? Plan to bother you when I knew you'd not be wearing your beskar?" she scoffed, but the sarcasm slipped in. "If you're going on a heist soon, you  _ should  _ be in the best possible condition."

Mando was not happy with her, she could sense it from the quiet tilt of his helmet, to the manner he crossed his arms at her. She stared defiantly, though she could see his arms now and part of his neck. The thin material of the shirt stretched against his muscular frame, highlighting his abs and pecs. He was broader than she'd originally thought, the padded cloth and armor hiding that all. He wasn't enormous, but when compared to her...

"Fine."

_ What _ ? Emma blinked a few times, astonished that he was giving in so easily. He sat down, nonplussed, and went through some of his weapons on the low table that she typically ate at with Grogu. Taking a moment to regain her wits, she followed him and didn't wait for another invitation. She expected this agreement was all she'd get. Setting her fingers into his shoulders, she had to work one at a time, huffing at how incredibly stiff he was. 

Soldiers had traded massages. The armor was heavy and so was the equipment. Your back hurt all the time unless you stretched properly and had a buddy willing to work out the knots in your shoulders. Emma knew well enough what it was like to be in full kits days in and days out, looking forward to that massage once you had the chance. Mando was just too stubborn, perhaps because he'd never let anyone this far beneath his armor, but if it were going to be anyone, why wouldn't it be her? She was his medic.

Digging the chuck of her palms between his blades, she could feel the strong corded muscles of his back between the knots. Even if she couldn't see his skin, she knew what she was touching was impressive. He jumped slightly when she slid her fingers forward, over his blades, and into his collar. Perhaps he thought she was going to touch his helmet, but she didn't, having learned back on Arvala-7 what that'd get. 

"Can you relax? I'm not going to bite you," Emma retorted as he squirmed slightly, having stopped fiddling with the weapons he was cleaning on the table. Removing her hands from his collar, massaging against his clavicle and deltoid, she finally heard a slight groan from him. The noise created a lump in her throat, realizing how close she was, her chest nearly to his back as she put her weight into rolling out the muscle.

Dangerous. She needed to be careful. This was a duty, making certain that he didn't hurt himself, but Emma would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't enjoying rolling her fingers and palms against his muscles, feeling his upper body. Clearing her throat, she pulled back her hands and moved to press her thumbs along his spine, noticing a frond of dark brown hair sticking out from underneath his helmet, damp against the back of his neck.

She's hesitated, her thumbs just cruising the plane of the small of his back, realizing that Mando had brown hair. Why was that so strange? To imagine the man right in front of her with messy, helmet hair? She almost laughed, but that opportunity was whisked right from her as he turned. Well, it wasn't as much of a turn as it was rounding on her so quickly that the Force hummed in her ears. 

"Ah-" he caught her hips, dragging her down on top of his lap, her back pressed against the table, as he held her hands in his. He wasn't wearing gloves, she'd not even noticed until now. His large biceps curled as he held her palms up, just like on Sorgan. Whatever she was going to say, dried up on the back of her throat, her pelvis pressed against his, the belt on his trousers digging into the softer flesh between her thighs. She was only wearing an undershirt and leggings, which had seemed reasonable enough until this point. 

"It hurts here too," he put her hands against his chest.

Emma was not demure, but she didn't quite comprehend what was happening in that moment. Her mind went back to when he'd teased her a couple of days ago about the Navy SEAL. Now, she was sitting on his lap, straddling him, and she was supposed to continue her work? How any of that made sense, she didn't know, but tried not to focus on the other parts of her that were growing clammy. Be professional. Even if he wasn't. Curling her knuckles into his pecs, she kept her lashes down, not daring to look up toward his visor. But he could undoubtedly see her face, cheeks growing rosier with each second, and the soft breaths she had to steal quietly between her parted lips. 

He shifted, her back pinching against the edge of the table, causing her to spasm. "What are-" her voice was breathless and cross. Blinking hard, she could barely focus, her own emotions beginning to surge over in a tidal wave. Her skin was blisteringly hot and sensitive, ears buzzing with the erratic pulsing of her heart. Brows shoved together, her thumbs trailed circles against his strong chest, almost wishing that the fabric didn't separate her fingers from his tanned skin. 

A moan escaped her lips as he pushed against her hips, heat radiating from between her legs. She must've been as red as a tomato, trying not to balk, or bend, but God that was impossible at this point. Shuddering slightly, she closed her eyes, afraid to look up at Mando. She couldn't even see his face, so why was she worried to look? It's not as if she could see the smug expression on his face as he unraveled her in another, baser manner taking revenge on her ambush and her roaming, massaging hands. 

Fingers, not her own, coasted the hem of her shirt, flipping it up slightly. Barbs of lightning zinged where his cool, rough fingertips touched her, tantalizingly and slow. Unable to help it, her fingers coiled, nails punching against the cotton shirt, tensing against his muscles. 

"Cin'ciri," he murmured, his head tilted down toward her, the Mando'a on his tongue. She had no idea what it meant, but it sounded much more sincere than ruus'alor. His voice made her shiver. When he spoke quieter, the vocoder picked up the timbre differently, the deep husk and desire making her toes curl. 

She lifted her eyes, looking into the dark visor instead of a face. But she knew there was a man beneath the helmet, she could feel him against her, hot and insistent. His hand moved up her abdomen, pushing the shirt up higher. "Are you feeling better now?" she managed in a quiet voice.

He didn't answer, bringing a hand up to trace her neck with his thumb, pressing into her collar, burning trails of fire despite the coolness of the tips of his fingers. "I could feel better."

She was blindsided by his remark, his finger thrumming against the hollow of her throat. The suggestion erring in his voice, her lids closing as her head tilted back slightly. This was different. Different than she'd felt before. The pillars of the relationship between them so polar to what she'd experienced before. The SEAL had been a fling. Her fiance she had dated for years, falling in love with him slowly. But this? Emma worried incessantly about him in a way that she'd never worried about a lover. She didn't know if that's what they were or this was just an opportunity of circumstance. If it was, she didn't mind. 

She'd worried this way about other soldiers. But Mando wasn't in the US Army or military. He was Mandalorian - completely different, but also similar. An ally, a companion, a partner - a savior. A dangerous man with a good heart. His intention hadn't been this, nor had it been hers. Had you suggested this might happen back on Arvala-7 she would have snorted in your face.

They had plenty of time on Sorgan to be another Hallmark romance, but he'd kept his distance. Only back amongst the dangers of the Outer Rim planets and with Rankar Malk's looming ominously in the days to come, was he spurned to do more than touch her innocently. No, maybe it had been Tatooine, the shared embrace, her comfort in his arms, reassured that nothing bad would happen as long as the beskar armor was wrapped around her.

His finger traced up her neck, caressing behind her ear, brushing some of her hair aside before drawing a line against her jaw and touching her mouth. Emma wanted to kiss him, but as she shivered slightly, gazing imploringly toward his visor, she knew that wouldn't happen. Cupping her face with his palm, she sank into his touch greedily, fingers curling into the nearest fronds of ivory locks. She rocked, pressing harder against his hips, hearing the slight huff of breath through his vocoder. He'd suggested it and yet hadn't done anything else.

"Emma," he complained, her heart soaring high at the sound of her name on his mouth. "Maker, stop it. Don't you know what you're doing to me?"

"I do now."

A soft noise made both of them freeze, Emma tilting her head back toward the bunk where the ruckus was coming from. The baby. Shattering the moment between them, she became glaringly aware of how her intention of just giving him a massage had abruptly shifted. Sitting on his lap still, palms pressed to the straining fabric against his chest, she swallowed hard. She didn't feel any different. She still wanted him. But perhaps, she was a little embarrassed, wondering if that's what he wanted after his last complaint. 

Standing up, she drew away, his hands slipping off her as she approached the bunk. Opening the door, she spotted Grogu garbling in his hammock. While she was dismayed by the interruption, part of her was also thankful. What if Mando had done something he'd regret? He was so private and yet she'd enticed him, forced him into a situation where her hands roamed him. It'd been for his benefit, but considering the solitary life he had, how many women did he have feeling him up like that? Emma pushed a sigh and smiled. Wasn't Grogu's fault.

If Mando wanted more, he could take another stab at her when they had a private moment again. Wasn't as if there wouldn't be opportunities in the future. "What is it, youngling?" she cooed, picking him up and turning around to see that Mando had gone back to cleaning his weapons, almost as if nothing might've happened. She stayed up with him for a little, the respite the child had felt, maybe amplified by the tumultuous emotions in the cabin right outside where he slept. Emma tucked in with him, though the heat from between her legs had barely dissipated. Rubbing her ankles together, she wished that they hadn't been interrupted.

Emma half expected what came over the next few days of travel. Mando was more careful, wearing his beskar, making certain to put distance between them. Still, she could hear her name in his throat, the weak manner in which he'd whined it in his deep voice. What would it sound like without the vocoder? Her Mandalorian had brown hair and tan skin. She knew the curves of his body, even if she'd only seen a few pieces. 

"Cin'ciri," he entreated as she paused in the doorway to the cockpit. Despite brushing aside their brief exchange, he'd kept the name for her, almost a testament that he hadn't forgotten it. A hope to cling to; a codeword. He just wasn't ready. Emma suspected he had ghosts, just like her, haunting him in the night. She'd shared as much as she was willing, but Mando had shared very little, including his real name. 

"Hm?"

Where did she have to go that she couldn't wait for him to say the word?

"We'll be arriving at the spaceport soon."

"What do you want me to do?" she asked, looking for direction, for an order. Part of her was more confident in her skills, wondering if she could try and use the Force to be an asset. However, given that Tatooine was still a fresh wound, she doubted he'd entertain it. 

"Put him to sleep and make certain he's tucked away safely," Mando directed, turning his chair more to look at her. "But you... we'll have to see what the mission is before I decide where you're going to stay."

He was inviting her to accompany him onto the spaceport. Nodding sternly, Emma nearly snapped to attention, a rather ingrained behavior. Instead, she stood erect and dipped her head slowly. "Understood." Turning, she went down from the cockpit and began playing with Grogu in hopes to tucker him out. "Let's try a few tricks-" tricks that she knew would put him to sleep. "I've got Paddington. Take him from me."

The silly stuffed animal she'd bought for him on Tatooine. She held the ratty thing up, fur becoming matted from where Grogu had sucked on the fur. She was of a mind to scrub it, but he got petulant when she took it from him, which he was beginning to do now. His chest rose and he reached out, eyes watering as if the same act would get her this time. 

"No, you need to take it, Grogu. I know you can. We haven't practice in a while."

Grogu screeched in defiance.

"Fine, I keep him. I'll sell him to the Indians, first planet we get to."

He didn't know what that meant, but babbled angrily. 

"Take him then. Take him!"

She felt the tug, arching a dark brow at him. "Oh, come now, you need to try much harder than that. You can stop a mudhorn but not take a doll out of my hand?"

He roared, the teddy flying from her hand and back into his arms. Hugging it greedily, he sent her as dirty a glare as she laughed spitefully. "Want to hear one of my favorite songs? One that helped me get better during my training. There's a girl, her name is Mulan, and she went to war in the place of her father-" Emma talked to the baby, explaining who Mulan was, her favorite Disney girl. She wouldn't consider Mulan a princess - she was the daughter of a Chinese soldier - which did not make her a princess. In a way, aside from heritage, Emma had always seen herself in Mulan. A small, weak girl who had been looked down upon when she joined the army at 17. 

"Time is racing toward us," she told him, her voice lilting slightly in a passive song, grinning wider as he took the doll from her again. He reciprocated well hearing music. Wielding that knowledge to her advantage, she all but belted I'll Make a Man Out of You to get the kid pumped up and to waste time until they landed. She was no Donny Osmond, but she had the right inflection and gusto. 

It had the desired effect after a while, the kid's eyes barely open by the end of it. Chuckling, she stowed him back in his hammock, delicately propping his doll under his head. "Little womp rat," she snickered, astonished that she was adopting the galaxy’s slang. God, but when she looked at him, she almost saw the baby as her own child. Their link with the Force was so deep that it felt as if he was hers. 

"Earth really likes their warriors, don't they?"

She jumped, turning away from Grogu to see Mando pausing by the dock door controls. "I'm assuming you heard... again."

"You were almost shouting," he informed her.

"Well, that song means a lot to me," she grumbled, scratching the back of her neck before closing the bunk door. "It's very inspirational."

"It's different from the others."

"Yes, it's from a movie... uh a show I suppose. I know in Mandalorian culture women are treated equally, but that was not always the case on earth. Women were always marked as inferior. Even my own army didn't allow women to participate in the front line jobs until recently, right before my discharge. Mulan was a Chinese girl who took her father's position in war because he was crippled. She pretended to be a man. If China discovered she was a woman, they would have killed her and dishonored her family."

Mando paused, listening with rapt attention. Whenever she had something to say about earth, he was always intrigued. She supposed her own planet seemed so queer when compared to the varied races and cultures in the galaxy. "Chinese?"

"Earth is large. We have many races of humans there - different cultures, different languages based on the country of origin. Imagine... that this galaxy is all earth - each culture on each planet between races is how earth is," that was the only way she could phrase it that might make sense to him.

"Your planet sounds needlessly complex."

"Perhaps," she smiled, drawing up alongside him. Her fingers ghosted where a lightsaber should be, recalling briefly what her master had told her. A lightsaber was a weapon second to her own body. Confidence was important and she needed to lend herself more to the Force. "But all those cultures, all that history, we've lived and learned. I suppose it makes us adaptable."

"Cin'ciri," he sighed, pausing his gloved fingers over the controls. "Theed, Naboo."

"Am I playing the princess card here?" she grinned cheekily.

"Please, don't."

"Got any more insight? Cuz, I have a feeling these mercs are gonna be a bit more impish than some bar crawlers on Tatooine," Emma pointed out, not wishing to feel out of depth when lying about her origin.

"You're of noble birth, but your house fell out of favor. You spent time working as a traveling medic, before we found each other. I employed you as a combat medic."

"And Emma Mars is gonna sound like a proper Nabooian name?"

"You don't have to tell them your name."

"I don't have a helmet to hide my face and they're going to have questions. I take it, you're not the type to usually have a woman traveling with you, medic or not," Emma reminded him.

"Ciri."

"Ciri? As in Cin'ciri?"

"Yes. Your surname is not important, especially if you're trying not to garner attention."

"What does that mean? Cin'ciri?" she contemplated it, lobbing a mischievous smile. "Does it mean smartass?"

"That would be ' _ mir'sheb _ '."

"Alright, Ciri then," she hummed, still curious as to what it meant, but she could hear the slight edge of exasperation in his voice at her volley of questions. However, Emma wasn't keen on being as unprepared as she had been last time. She was Nabooian nobility, who fell out of favor. Which meant she could be incredibly vague, but it would explain her mannerisms and attire. 

The gangplank went down, revealing an unfamiliar tarmac. From the view of the crest, she could make out the rectangle shaped barrier that allowed ships in and out of the spaceport. She still thought it amazing that the thing barrier managed to keep the pressure and atmosphere inside the hangar, but they didn't have radios for music. Funny how their priorities worked for her. 

The man that approached didn't appear ancient, but his hair had greyed and peppered and had been left to grow long in a coarse beard and curtain of grey. His deep set eyes observed the pair, a whimsical smile pressing his features. Emma immediately plied the Force, feeling the shadiness of this being. He was not to be trusted. But he didn't need to know that she thought that. Instead, he pressed a smile beneath his mustache, giving a bemused nod of his head. 

"Mando!" he proclaimed, throwing his hands up in a familiar and engaged manner. His dark brown eyes settled between the both of them, scanning from the Mandalorian and then down toward her. "And friend? Hello, I'm Ranzar Malk, but you can just call me Ran-" he took her hand, his fingers grubby, patting hers excitedly.

Mando glowered, though Emma offered a tight smile in return, posturing for Ran. She couldn't be outrightly rude, not when he was going to be the one paying them despite the bounties they had looming over them. "Ciri," she said delicately, careful to keep her accent out of the picture.

"Where'd you find this one, Mando? Didn't think you were a people person," Ran jested, releasing her hand, before eying the Razor Crest with elicit intrigue. He wanted the ship for something. "You know, I didn't expect you to reach back out to me."

"Unique situation," Mando retorted coolly, the same metallic ring returning to his modulator. Odd how it'd been missing and she had barely noticed until it returned. A smirk curved the corner of her mouth, like a sly and knowing fox, as she turned around to espy the Razor Crest with Ran.

"I heard about your trouble with the Guild," Ran admitted, Emma tensing slightly, but she didn't sense immediate malice. "But you know, you're welcome here anytime. One of our associates ran afoul of some competitors and I've put together a crew to spring him. It's a five person job, so I'm glad to see you've brought an extra gun. Ciri, are you a good shot?"

Emma slid her eyes over. "I'm a combat medic. Mando doesn't need another good shot watching his back, but yes I know my blaster from my ass."

Ran was startled by her attitude, but broke into a wide grin. "That makes more sense. A combat medic..." he smiled before turning back to Mando. "I need your ship."

"No."

Emma nearly snorted, covering her mouth slightly at the tense line in his shoulders. It wasn't because he was stiff, she'd been rather thorough. No, he was being obstinate as always.

"Mando, the Razor Crest is the only reason I let you back here. Otherwise, I'd pay someone cheaper to be the guns," Ran pointed out lightly. "No offense darling, I bet you are a good shot."

Emma shrugged, nonplussed.

"Come this way, let me introduce you to the team."

Following Ran into his spaceport, Emma observed the different ships, the various containers, webbing, and items. A spaceport. Interesting. It was like a much more casual version of the space stations that orbited earth. No to mention, she could walk around freely whereas astronauts floated in zero gravity. They approached a pale bald man who had a copper red beard shorn close to his face. She couldn't shake the feeling that his countenance was vaguely familiar as if she'd seen it on earth before, but she couldn't place it and doubted that she'd met him before because logistically it was impossible.

"This is my associate, Migs Mayfeld," Ran introduced. "Mayfeld, Mando is an old associate of mine and with him is his combat medic, Ciri."

Migs lobbed a scathing look between the two of them, mostly squaring himself up toward Mando as if there was something to prove. What could he prove? Mando was in full beskar. "What's the Mando getting out of this mission?" he asked tartly. "No offense cupcake, but you don't look like much of a gun."

Emma took offense to his jab. Mando's hand erred out from his side, as if warning her not to take the bait. She crossed her arms and slunk back into her heels.

"He gets target practice," Ran said, undeterred by the slowly growing tension. "Mayfeld is in charge of this mission. He was a stormtrooper."

Now, Emma levied a haughty and open glare, imploring Mando to let her say something. 

"I was an Imperial sharpshooter, not a buckethead," Mayfeld covered quickly, distaste welling on the back of his throat at being compared to a trooper.

"Ah, so you hit the target half the time. Those are better odds," Emma retorted glibly.

Mayfeld cocked a glare back at her. "Who is this?"

"No questions," Mando said sternly.

They returned to the Crest, Mayfeld placing his hands on his hips as he glanced up at her, unimpressed. Emma didn't understand why. The Crest looked great to her. "This is the ship?" he turned back to Ran with a prissy expression. "It looks like a Canto Bight slot machine, not a ship."

She knew what a slot machine was, but not Canto Bight. Glancing back at the ship, she tried to puzzle out how it could look like a gambling machine. 

"Anyways," Mayfeld grumbled. "Here's the rest of the team."

A trio approached them, her nerves twinging as the Force quivered. Between the group, there was an enormous devil man with crimson skin and obsidian horns. His beady eyes slid between the two of them, drinking in both strangers - earthling and Mandalorian included. Beside him was a bug-like droid that she might've mistaken for a human with an ant helmet on if not for the lack of lifeforce humming from him. She knew Mando was alive before because of her connection to the Force, before she'd seen that he was injured. This thing? No. It was a husk.

The last was a female with lilac skin. In place of hair were two large head tendrils, a leather headdress encircling her scalp. Her lips were ruby red, eyes brown, with lack of lashes and eyebrows or any hair that she could see. The warning was swift, pointed, and made Emma reach for her blaster as the alien danced ferally toward Mando. A knife was in her hand, baring long canines. 

"Tell me, why shouldn't I kill you right where you stand?" the woman asked delicately, her voice shrill and whimsical.

Mando offered no answer, not even flinching at how close her dagger came.

The female sucked on her teeth, swiping a tongue across her grin as she settled back, twirling the blade on her finger. "Ooh, did you replace me?" her eyes went to Emma. "You know, I thought we had something unique, Mando. But you did find a pretty one. What's your name-" she darted toward Emma on fake principle, reminding her slightly of Harley Quinn in the way she flounced and laughed. "Loth-cat got your tongue?"

"Cut it out," Mayfeld snapped.

"Hmph, I was just getting to know our newest friend," she purred, swiping the flat of the dirk across her bottom lip suggestively.

"Here we have Burg, Zero, and Xi'an... whom you seem to know already," Mayfeld pointed to each teammate respectively. "Mando and Ciri."

Xi'an tilted back toward her, lolling her eyes. 

"He's tiny," Burg decided, but then sized her up. "She's puny."

My God, this was going to be a long mission. She comprehended Mando's words, whether or not she'd actually be up to dealing with these asshats the entire time. There was no professionalism or etiquette. Then again, she had sassed the leader right at the beginning, but he'd also called her cupcake. Want respect? Earn it. 

Flooding onto the ship, she stared at the bunk door, hoping the ruckus wouldn't bother Grogu. She'd have to scrub this place clean once the mercs left to make certain it was safe for him. Zero, the droid, went up to the cockpit to begin looking at the Crest's controls. Turning around, she flanked Mando as Mayfled began the brief about the mission.

Displaying a holographic picture of an enormous ship - almost as large as the cruiser she'd been on for a while with the Empire - her eyes took immediate notice of the symbols on it. New Republic. She'd been here long enough to recognize it. "The package is being moved in a fortified transport ship. We have a limited window to infiltrate the ship and recover the prisoner before it jumps into hyperspace," Mayfeld explained.

Tunnels. Corridors. Not a planet, not a place where they would have natural cover. Emma was not a fan. 

"That's a New Republic Correctional Transport," Mando pointed out thinly. "Your 'friend' was arrested by the authorities."

"A job is a job," Ran piped nonchalantly.

Mando stiffened and Emma knew he didn't like the idea. All they needed were the Imps, the Guild, and the New Republic on their tail. The entire galaxy might be after them at that point. 

"The ship is crewed by droids," Xi'an huffed, still obsessing over her knife, catching the hilt in her palm as she gave Mando a meaningful look.

He relented at that, but Emma wasn't too certain if she was keen on getting on the bad side of the government for the galaxy. Setting her jaw, she tried not to seem miffed, but this didn't look good all around. 

"The ship is a mess," the droid declared, sweetening the pot. "The hyperlinks are leaking, navigation is intermittent, and the hyperdrive is only operating at 67.3% efficiency. Why are we not utilizing a newer ship?"

"The Razor Crest is off both Imperial and New Republic grids, essentially making it a ghost," Ran elaborated.

The need for the ship finally clicked into place. Emma might not have known much about flying, but she comprehended enough about technology to basically grasp what they were saying. No flags would be waived when the ship approached. 

"We need a ship that can jam New Republic codes. Our plan is to board in the ship's blindspot," Mayfeld zoomed in on the holograph, showing the tight space where they were to dock.

"That's not possible. Not the amount of time and window," Mando protested.

"That's why Zero will be the pilot. We need you on the trigger rather than the wheel."

He didn't like that, his shoulders tightening again. Maybe his aching shoulders hadn't been because he was a hunter, but because he tended to tense up a lot. 

"I am quicker and smarter than organics," Zero piped up.

"How can I trust the droid?" Mando asked, his voice gritty, translated through clenched teeth. 

"Mando, you don't trust anyone... Least, unless something's changed-" Ran's eyes settled on her. 

Ranzar Malk dismounted, leaving his crew on the ship, as Zero took the head of the ship. Mando followed after him, displeased and broody at the fact he had to let the droid hold the reins to his ship. Emma leaned against the wall, observing the crew with cautious, displeased violet eyes. Burg immediately began pacing, his heavy foot falls causing the ground he passed by to quiver. She wasn't too bothered, to each their own, but Xi'an lashed out. 

"Sit down you oaf!" she snarled.

He smacked her dagger out of her hand, sending it clattering to the ground by Emma's feet. Placing her boot on the skittering blade, Emma raised dismayed eyes as Xi'an hissed like a cat. Kicking it back to the other female, she watched as Burg turned toward the gun cabinet. 

"Can I help you?" she asked delicately, but her stern voice echoed with the power of the Force, dominant and commanding. The others in the hull glanced at her warily, for the first time not seeing the petite woman who stood emphatically with a glare leveled.

Burg curled a lip, as if a little thing like her couldn't counter him. 

"Take a step back or-"

"That's enough, haha," Mayfeld shot up before either of them could begin arguing. "C'mon just a simple job. Y'know, take it easy, we'll never see each other again after this."

Emma pinned her eyes to the gun cabinet, waiting until Burg stepped back before she leveled her chin and noticed that Mando had joined them. She was sort of surprised that he'd manage to tear away from the cockpit with the droid piloting. Zero seemed a lot more dangerous than Peli's pit droids.

"Why do we need the Mandalorian and this little sprite?" Burg demanded moodily.

"Mandalorians are the greatest warriors in the galaxy," Mayfeld answered honestly.

"Then why are they all dead?" Burg countered, eliciting laughs from everyone but Emma and Mando. 

They were all dead? Emma had gleaned their culture and knew they weren't common, but she had just expected that it was because of how large the galaxy was. 

"Hey, didn't fly with Mandalorians?" Mayfeld turned toward Xi'an. 

"Mm, yeah. Mando tell them about the job on Alzoc III," she glanced over at him, tilting her dagger against her chin, posing a seductive look in his direction, curling her tongue over her teeth. 

She could sense Mando's discomfort. "I did what I had to do."

"You liked it," she retorted.

"What about you, cupcake?" Mayfeld glanced toward her. "You're obviously not from the Outer Rim."

"Not much to say," Emma played off, glancing at her fingernails.

"You're traveling with Mando and there's not much to say?" Xi'an insisted, arching her heavy brow ridge. 

"You ever seen beneath his helmet?" Mayfeld asked. "I'm curious, is he Gungan?"

Emma didn't know what a Gungan was, so didn't have anything to retort with.

"C'mon, take if off Mando. I bet you do for her," Mayfeld pandered.

Emma frowned, watching as Burg stepped up, egged on by Mayfeld's suggestion. Her palm flew out, the training hot in her ears before he could grasp for Mando. "Mind your manners," she snapped, the Force popping between her hand and his chest. Burg was burst back a couple of steps. 

He snarled, confused, staring at her hand. It might've appeared that she had pushed him, but because he obscured the view from the others, they only saw him stumbling back from Emma's rebuff. 

"Wha-" Mayfeld's brows pulled together too.

"We're exiting hyperspace," Zero announced.

The ship lurched, the impending tension tossed out the window, as they were all sent flying off their feet. Emma tried to use the Force to keep herself from losing her balance, but Mando slammed into her hard and she hadn't been intending on bracing for his weight either. With the beskar on, he was heavy and flinty.

"Kriffing droid!" Xi'an roared. "He's supposed to give us a countdown!"

She hadn't fallen to the ground, but her side ached where Mando had collided with her. "Are you alright?" he muttered quietly, a steadying, gloved hand opposite of where they'd hit. 

"I'll survive," she answered, turning back toward the bunk, listening for crying. Reaching out to Grogu with the Force, she confirmed that he'd manage to keep safe in his hammock. "He's alright."

Mando nodded, letting go of her arm. "You can stay on the ship if you'd prefer-"

"And let you have all the fun?" she smirked. "I'm a  _ combat  _ medic. Remember that."

"Don't have to remind me after what you just did," he pointed out, glancing slightly toward Burg as the rest of the group waited on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emma recognizes Migs Mayfeld because she's a comedy fan. She knows he looks like Bill Burr, but is hella confused when looking at him. I thought it was silly, but that'll be the only cameo she recognizes.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the first real taste of romance between our pair. This ship has sailed - tootoot ~


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emma has gone to double braid mode! Yeeting her way into the Force now. Still could use a lightsaber tho.

_ "It's not easy being drunk all the time. If it were easy, everyone would do it." _

* * *

Why had he done it? The weight of her fingers pressing into his tender muscles, wiping away the tension that followed him around like a best friend. She'd erased it. But that wasn't what put him over the edge. No, it was her consideration, the quiet deliberation, and purposeful mission she'd set with the ambition of conquering him. Perhaps this was to get back at him for putting her in the bed that night on Sorgan, but it'd felt so good. Better than up in the cockpit. She might've said that it was because she was his medic, that she worried about his health, and maybe Din believed that a little. But when he'd pulled her onto him, pressing her against the table, looking at those healing hands - trying to comprehend why they did what they did.

They were tiny, small, but... they weren't frail. He'd been wrong about that. Emma had strength different from his own, but that did not make her weak. Considering that, it was her own willpower that had brought them to that scenario. Her impishness, her inclination to take care of him no matter what... because of what he'd done. He'd saved her and Grogu from the Empire. Did she feel that she owed him? Just having her around, learning about earth, getting to look at her fair face and the wide grins was enough. 

_ But it's not _ , he had thought. He yearned for more, but was anxious to take the first step. What they had now, he liked it, and if he took that step and ruined it all... Emma was good at deflecting, pretending that nothing was wrong, and resuming normalcy. Still, he didn't believe it could go back to normal if she rejected him. He scoffed at the idea, wondering what such a lovely young woman could see in him. She couldn't even see his face. His heart caught anytime her vibrant amethyst eyes settled on him, seemingly knowing where his own gaze was behind the shade of the visor. 

Cara had known it on Sorgan. Din had known it since back on Nevarro. 

She didn't reject him. Instead, the images of her flushed cheeks, the color dashed against her high cheekbones and dainty nose, the soft parting of her small lips. Lashes cast down, unable to look at him as she tried to work, in futility. That was the thing about her. Emma did not beg and she was too prideful to admit that something might be too challenging. She was the type who'd run herself into the ground before she gave up. Or else she wouldn't be there uncoiling his taut muscles. 

Leaning into his exposed hand, closing her eyes, a soft hum in the back of her throat as she savored his touch. The push into him had set him over the edge, reminding him of what was about to happen, his chest straining as the dim light above them caught her snow white hair. His Cin'ciri. 

Then why hadn't he done anything since? That was a difficult question to answer. Din knew what he wanted and that scared him. The idea that he was almost willing to forsake his helmet for her. Just as Cara had suggested in the village, what was stopping him from just being with her? His Creed, the Tribe, being Mandalorian. It was everything to him. Or... it had been. Would it be so terrible to show her the galaxy, to have the combat medic beneath the stars with him, assaulting him with her glib mouth? 

Despite her proclamation that Mandalorians were amazing, he didn't think she fully comprehended his culture. There was only so much she could understand and he had to tell it to her. And that was the problem. The both of them could talk, but it was never about their demons. As much as he'd taught her, barely a shred of it had been about his personal life. Aside from his heritage, that was not a greatly known fact, but he'd always been a drifter, getting to know few more than he had to.

Now they were on this kriffing mission with old companions, people who'd known him a lifetime ago. But Staff Sergeant Mars had poise and understood not to bring up personal matters in front of strangers. There was no questioning him, no erring looks that might hint that she was confused. The respect was there and he knew that she wouldn't embarrass him in front of the others. She'd only challenged him on matters she thought she knew better than him, but never in the prowess of battle. 

He felt nervous having her there amongst Malk's mercenaries, but there had been a subtle change with her from when he'd first met her. It was her magic. Since Arvala-7 he'd only seen her use it to influence the proprietor in the common house. Otherwise, she was more sparing with her abilities than the child. When she'd pushed Burg back, he'd been the only one who saw the well placed palm, but how her flesh never met the Devaronian. Nor did it exhaust her. Before, when she'd pushed the child's pram away and used the magic to help her drag him to safety, it had exhausted her. Ever an observant man, the new confidence in her, the set of her jaw that was unakin from Sergeant Mars - this was... a different creature. 

It was still Emma, but perhaps not the war veteran he saw on Sorgan. This was the Emma Mars that this galaxy had fashioned - not the earthling. 

In her dark teal dress and cloak, she flanked him.

Mayfeld ran the comlink with Zero, who was guiding them through the ship. He knew not to rely on them, as they were half as likely to double cross them. No, he had to memorize the twists and turns they took. Ships like this tended to have a repetitive layout, so if he learned it, there would be no issue navigating the labyrinth back to his ship. 

Stowed in cells, alien and humanoid prisoners reached out their doors, leering, hooting, possibly hopeful that this crew intended on jailbreaking their misfit souls. Din didn't want to spend more time here than necessary. The last thing he needed was the New Republic on his tail in addition to the Guild and Imperial remnants. 

"Here mousey, mousey-" Mayfeld was clucking in the direction of an MSE-6 series repair droid that had spotted them. It wasn't a security droid, but if it turned tail and ran it would alert the rest of the ship of their presence. 

Emma signaled beside him, keenly aware of what was about to happen before it did. She was declaring that they needed to flank before firefight broke out. Her hand signals, while varying slightly from Mandalorian tradition, were comprehensible. Earth surprised him yet again.

She turned around and ducked around the corner of a hallway just as Burg lifted his blaster and lit up the mouse droid. He huffed into his vocoder, a slight breathy laugh at her prediction, taking the opposite hall as hell broke loose. Blasterfire was audible echoing through the halls, amplified by the cavernous shape of the tunnels. 

"What the - the fucking Mandalorian abandoned us!" Mayfeld screeched, ducking behind the panel as the silver, humanoid security droids leveled their blasters and continued to press forward. They had visors of quavering, sickly yellow light, wielding DH-17 blaster pistols. 

The flicker of blue didn't make him feel any less comforted. Rather it made him hasty, seeing the glare of Emma's attire as she blazed forward. Her small handgun would have to be perfectly aimed to take down one of the droids. He darted toward the droids, eager to distract and meet them before her. 

A running kick, jarred the first that hadn't been anticipating the attack, his vibro-blade humming to his fingertips as he swept down and severed the metal leg clean off. Falling with an ungraceful crash, the droid pittered, not dead, but crippled. 

Cin'ciri was on the other one, her hair flaring around her, an empty palm striking the metal chest cavity of the droid nearest to her. It shouldn't have done anything, her hand should have snapped back, but instead the plate fractured inward as if it'd been hit by a missile. Gripping the chassis as if she were picking an apple, she ripped it out, smashing it in her palm with a sizzle. 

Djarin didn't hesitate, using the time she'd bought him to engage his grappling hook, which whirled around the neck of a droid. He jerked his arm down, the wire rope severing the head clean off. His blaster was in his fingers as Emma nimbly darted below the last droid's incoming fire, predicting where it would move. Confused where to react, the front or back, the droid went for him since he possessed a weapon. That was the droid's mistake. Just as she'd done with the first, welling her magic around her hand, she gutted the mech, crushing the chassis. 

"Where'd you learn to do that?" he grumbled, glancing around at the carnage that surrounded them. 

"A girl doesn't kiss and tell," she smarted, eliciting a chuckle from him. Dusting off her palms, the woman gave a peevish glance down the hall. "C'mon now, don't tell me you're afraid of a little mousey."

Mayfeld poked out first, glancing amongst the fallen droid, and Din wondered how much they'd witnessed. From the look he gave Cin'Ciri, he expected that the man had watched her rip out the chassis with her bare hands. It took a moderate amount of effort for Din not to laugh. How could someone so 'puny' be so dangerous? Burg had experienced it first and it seemed that they'd doubt it until it was thrust in front of their faces once again.

"Clean up your mess," Mayfeld grumbled, shouldering up to lead from the front. 

Din cocked his helmet toward her, watching her shoulders roll nonchalantly, her irises tilting up at him, bright with sly mirth. She was enjoying taunting the mercenaries. The same new wisdom blazed in her eyes, the freedom of whatever this magic was, coursing through her. If it protected her, he wanted her to wield it. Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t feel strange about watching the tiny woman ripping droids apart with her bare hands. There was something distinctly unsettling about that, but he’d have to ask later. 

The control room waited for them, but so did a blue uniformed New Republic soldier, leveling his blaster toward them. He was severely outnumbered and yet, "This ship is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic. Lay down your weapons." Din settled back on his haunches, sucking his teeth, and wondering how they had gotten here. He should have presumed that there’d be a hiccup along the way, that Ran hadn’t revealed everything in an attempt to get him on the job.

Mayfeld stepped by him, hacking into the system and beginning to locate their target. The others were not as nonplussed as him. Rather, dismay settled in Din's chest at the fact that there was a living person on the ship despite being told otherwise. Only droids were supposed to be here. Now their dilemma stood in front of them, arm shaking slightly as the unfriendly eyes of the mercenaries roved over him.

"Cell 221," Mayfeld called out. He turned around, noticing the situation and the tracking beacon in the officer's hand. "Woah, woah there. Let's just put that down. None of us have to get hurt here."

"You said there were no living people on this ship!" Xi'an hissed, baring her fangs. 

"What's your name?" Din asked, not unkindly as the officer eyed him dubiously. 

"D-Davan."

"We're only here to free a prisoner. Not to kill you," Din assured him, not seeing a reason as to why they had to have his blood on their hands. 

"Wha- No, we can't let him live. The moment we're out of here, he alerts the New Republic anyways," Mayfeld objected, leaning obstinately toward him. This was the ex-Imp's mission and having Din overstep the bounds of leadership grated visibly on him. 

"The man is here doing his job. We have ours. Tie him up and he'll be found eventually," Emma suggested sternly, her eyes bright as the room balanced on the edge of a tightrope.

"If you kill him, the New Republic will arrive here with all of their firepower behind them," Din warned, tilting his blaster in Mayfeld's direction.

"Get that fucking blaster out of my face!" Mayfeld snarled.

There would be no reasoning, Din could see that now. They lacked cohesion and logic. Tooth and claw was the only way, at least, that was what they believed. These people lived for their own skin, others meant nothing to them. Burg turned his blaster toward Emma, her eyes leveling haughtily up at him. 

"You want to go again, big boy?" she taunted.

Xi'an let out a pent up sigh, throwing a dagger, but Cin'ciri was quicker. It sliced through the air like an arrow, perfectly aimed, her dexterity not faltering in the years since he’d last seen her. What should have killed Davan stopped meager millimeters from his chest. The officer was pale as mist, swallowing hard and taking a step back as the entire room reeled. Well, the entire room aside from Din. 

Emma's eyes were hot, her hand outstretched as the dagger receded and moved into her palm. "Next time you do that, I'll make certain to return it to you in the same manner you threw it," she hooked the blade in her hand, Xi'an's countenance becoming eerily pale as she took a step back from Emma. Chucking it at the floor, it thunked resolutely as the tip of the blade nosedived into the ground. She turned toward Davan. "Forgive me, but this will save your life for now.  _ You will wake up when I depart this ship. _ " Her hands reached up, pressing to the sides of his face. Her expression was gentle, caring, like a mother who was shushing her child to sleep with a gentle caress of the face.

Davan's eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he sagged. Din reached forward, helping ease the officer onto the ground as the crew stood flabbergasted. 

"W-w-what was that?" Mayfeld stammered.

"I'm a witch. Boo!" Emma turned on him, making a silly face, like how she'd do for Grogu. "He'll be out until I physically leave the ship. Solves our problem without being hasty."

Din had snared the beacon from the officer while setting him down. This was the preferred method. There was no honor in killing Davan when he was there, innocently, doing his work. "Are you not pleased?" he leveled his visor toward Mayfeld who was pallid and nervous. What they had seen on the ship could be disputed, but in tandem with the fight with the droids and now this - it was obvious to them that Cin’Ciri was not just a simple medic. 

"That works. Whatever hoodoo that was, it works," Mayfeld's voice cracked as he stormed out of the control room. "Catch that Zero? We need directions to cell 221."

Din pulled up the rear beside him, wondering how much energy she had exerted by this point. Whatever mind trick she had used on the officer, it didn't seem to be an easy one. When she left the ship? Did that mean she was tethered to Davan as long as she was on the cruiser? Part of him wished she understood Mando'a so he might be able to have a conversation with her that the others could not comprehend. However, it was not his place to teach Mando'a to someone who wasn't Mandalorian. 

Locating the prison cell was the easy part, the Twi'lek who stepped out an impressive and tall male. His skin was the same hue as their blade master, understanding clicking in his head. Qin rushed forward, hugging Xi'an who resembled him save for the head crest that the males possessed. It had been a long time since Din had last seen this creature and he’d hoped to never look upon that smug, guileful face.

"Ah, Mando," Qin remarked thinly with a tight smile. "You know, it was a real drag that you left me behind last time. Especially after I came to get you."

Emma rounded, but only a moment too late as the mercenaries shoved them into the empty cell. 

"You deserve whatever hell you find here," Xi'an purred, looking through the slats, glancing toward Emma second. "Have fun while you can. Once you arrive wherever you're going, the two of you will be separated."

Licking his lips, he glanced back at Emma who'd come up beside him silently. "Have a plan?" she asked.

"How long can you hold Davan?"

"Didn't think we'd be on the ship much longer, to be honest."

"I have this," he removed the beacon from his belt, showing her the shiny white device. 

Her eyes slid over it. "How do these doors work?"

"Rotational locking mechanism. Usually requires a certain gear to be set in it before it'll unlock," he informed her.

"So a puzzle," she inferred, pressing her hand against the door. "Good thing they didn't bind me." Between the steel, he could hear the clicking and moving of the gears within the hull. Her eyes closed, brows straining as she twisted the parts. A held brush of air escaped her mouth and for the first time, since arriving on the transport, she leaned against the door. Catching her breath, an attempt to not seem winded, she stood and let it open in front of her. "Still got it." But there was too much exhaustion in her, too much of using the magic for her to be able to keep up with him.

"Go back to the ship. You know the way?" his fingers brushed her arm as she stole another piece of air. She gave a stout nod, straightening her back and shoving away the telltale signs of fatigue. This was the closest she’d get to admitting her weakness. Even on Arvala-7 she’d been indignant when in the face of being able to walk on her own. 

"I can make it. What are you going to do?"

"Make certain they don't get to the ship," he informed her.

Emma nodded and parted ways with him, the heels of her boots clicking against the floor as she beelined for the Razor Crest. Heading back to the control room, he saw Davan's slumped form leaned against the dash, before he began engaging the blast doors. He trusted that she was clever enough to sense which direction was the right one to go, working next to turn off the main power. Red light flooded the ship, dim and difficult to make through unless wearing a helmet with infrared sensor. A haze, a bloody mist, casting a hellish shadow over those that he tracked.

One by one, he hunted the mercenaries that had been so willing to double cross him. Aside from the Devaronian, each one was disengaged less pieces on a chess board. He didn't kill them - that would be too easy and not sweet enough. No, he tossed them back into the cell that they'd originally condemned him to. However, Qin wasn't amongst them, more partial to saving his own skin than remaining beside his sister. He found Qin about to trot up the ladder to the ship, pausing as he noticed Din's blaster trained on him. 

"You killed the others?" Qin deduced without a shred of emotion.

"They got what they deserved," Din replied cryptically.

"Don't kill me. You'll get all their shares if you return me in one piece. You're here for a job," Qin reminded him duly.

The lack of honor, replaced only by the self perseverance made him frown behind his helmet. Had Emma made it safely back to the ship? There was only want to know. He pulled cuffs out, binding Qin before shoving him up the ladder into the ship. Standing by the bunk, Emma leaned against the wall, Zero dead by her feet. 

The child was propped against her hip, her skin slightly fairer than usual, as his eyes trailed down to observe that the droid had a blaster in its grip. No words needed to be spoken. It had been after the kid. Part of him wanted to take that moment, to hold them both close, but with the Twi'lek ushered in front of him, he grimaced and thrust Qin down by the table. His tawny eyes slid across the ship, drinking in the pair of strangers that he’d yet to see, only briefly glancing at Emma before pushing her into the cell. He was curious. Din knew that as he tilted his head, eyes raking after the two. 

Emma skirted up into the cockpit to escape Qin’s attention, sensing Din’s disdain for them being so near to the Twi’lek. Before pushing off, he took the moment to toss Zero's limp, mechanical corpse down the chute. As much as his disliked Qin, they were going to get those credits. "Who's the girl?" the alien asked, craning his lavender visage up toward him. 

Din didn't answer.

Instead, he turned and went up into the cockpit where his family was waiting for him. Emma slumped in the seat, her face growing paler by the moment, fading rapidly. "Think we might be able to leave now?" she asked in a weak voice. 

She was still tethered to Davan. 

He sat back in his seat, the leather form comfortable and his. Beneath his helmet, his nose pinched at the thought that a droid had been sitting there. Locking his gloved hands onto the controls, he brought the ship off the transport and began charting the course back to Ran's. He already had a plan to set the mercenary straight. The intention had been to double cross them from the beginning. It wasn't as if he hadn't completely expected it, but if they were going to cross him, why wouldn't they try to steal his beskar? They weren't really the smartest people. Ran had also neglected to mention that the ‘friend’ was Qin, probably because Din was not keen on risking his ship for the alien. 

Engaging the hyperdrive once the ship was clear of the New Republic's cruiser, he glanced back at Emma. She'd slipped into sleep, the day's endeavor too much for her small frame to handle. Had there not been Qin down in the hull, he might've picked her up and brought her down to the bunk. Instead, he let a small sigh part his mouth, reaching up to unclip his cloak. 

The kid was awake and alert, having been stashed in his hammock for a while. Placing his cloak over her, he picked up Grogu and set the child on his knee back in the pilot's seat. Reaching forward before he could stop him, the baby smashed his palm on the projector. A message played; a message from the face of a man he'd thought he had killed.

Greef Karga was entreating him on the other side of the hologram, imploring Din to come back to Nevarro and settle the situation. The man was more haggard, tired looking than he recalled, but postured with feigned confidence and rapport. Despite being an ex-Magistrate, Greef Karga would carry himself with the same poise and finesse until his death. He didn't feel bad that the Guild had come under fire by the Imperial remnants. In fact, it almost felt deserving since Karga had turned his back on a woman and child for money. If those were the ways of the Guild, it was a way that he wasn't willing to follow. But... the siren's call of freedom beckoned at him. What if... there was the slightest possibility this was true and he could free them of the Guild and Empire? 

Then they could travel freely. 

He could pick bounties back up and Emma could follow him around. The kid... his eyes went down, watching as the womp rat reached for the shiny ball sitting on top of one of the levers to the control of the ship. Grogu was 50 years old. He aged incredibly slowly. Even if Emma could teach him magic, how long could she do that for? Part of him knew that it didn't matter. They'd remain together for as long as their lives continued. But... 

Grogu would outlive them, that much was clear. And she was younger by nearly a decade.

These thoughts plagued Din Djarin, but did not push him away. He was already too committed to begin thinking that Emma was too young for him. She was an adult and could make decisions on her own. The gap between them was not twice her age, but less than 10, and she was mature. Well, in most aspects. She had a haughty way of talking at times, the thick Earthling accent rounding out her vowels and “R”s when she was being sarcastic. Reminded him slightly of a Corellian accent. But only slightly.

Looming ahead of them, the spaceport was a lurid light amongst the stars. He had many unpleasant memories here, recalling his youth, before he’d set into the Guild. He had been a different man then, a much unkinder man. It had taken a few unpalatable missions under Ran’s guidance for him to realize that he did not belong there. Prior to seeing the port loom into view, he pressed the beacon he had pilfered. Would Ran let him walk? Probably not. But he'd plaster on a slimy smile and pretend that everything was good until Din revealed his back. Emma was still asleep in the chair. 

"Stay here," Din told the kid, giving him a meaningful look, but to the child it was just a head tilt. Half of him expected the child to twiddle with the controls again.

Tromping down the ladder, he turned toward Qin, who had remained in his seat. Grinning wildly, the Twi'lek stood up, eager to be free and eager to have a go at Din. But for now, he postured, as if he didn't think that Din had any idea about what was going to happen. He'd activated the beacon 20 minutes ago. The New Republic would have already been tracing after them at this point. 

Shoving Qin forward, he slipped the beacon into the alien's belt before dropping the gangplank with a flick on his vambrace. The Twi'lek swaggered, Ran fluttering by excitedly, his dark eyes slipping past him to take obvious notice of the missing crew. But before asking questions, Ran and Qin embraced, laughing slightly at their reunion. 

"Where are the others?" Ran finally asked, glancing again toward the Crest.

"Remember the code," Din told him sternly.

Ran hesitated, but gave a slight nod. Pulling out the payment, he handed the heavy bag of credits over to Din. "Ah, I miss those days when people actually listened to the code. Those were the good old days."

Din offered a slight nod, turning around and leaving without a parting word. There was no need to say goodbye. He'd not be returning. But he needed to leave before the New Republic arrived. With little hurry, he took the seat again and brought the Razor Crest off of the hangar floor before directing them away from Malk's tiny space station. Wouldn't be used for much any longer. Just as he'd left the immediate airspace, he saw the New Republic X-wings gunning by.

Uncertain if he was going to take up Karga's offer, he listed the ship forward in the direction of Nevarro, but did not engage the hyperdrive. Instead, he turned to look at his companion, snoozing softly in the co-pilot seat. Drawing a gentle breath, he stood up, trodding over to her before his hands slipped beneath her petite form. Her warmth pressed against the inside of his arms where the beskar did not sit. Once again, he was reminded of how small she was, so light, and wondered about her. Wondered about earth. Wondered why she’d been brought across galaxies. After witnessing her in a fight, he was beginning to comprehend what might be desirable about experimentation on her. 

A whine echoed in the back of her throat, making him pause by the door. "I'm awake," she complained, but didn't open her eyes. "Mando. Mando?"

"I'm here," he assured her, fingers tightening around her frame. 

"Din?"

He froze, his skin going icy as her head lolled. How had she known that? But when he looked at her face, he knew she wasn't awake. Her lids were closed, dark lashes skimming her cheekbones as she tilted her head slightly to reveal her soft throat. It was the first time since he'd been a boy that anyone had spoken his name out loud. Continuing down into the hull, he tucked her into the bunk, sitting on the edge of the bed as he considered what had just happened. Her magic had grown stronger. Where was she learning it? How had she learned it? The mysterious nature of it unsettled him. For all the things that he knew, he didn't know this magic. A kind that could glean information that hadn't been spoken in decades. 

Trying not to dwell on it did no good. Din thought about it. Wondering if she'd remember when she woke up. 

But when she did wake, Emma was completely nonplussed. Sitting at the table, her hair was loose and she wore a brown dress accented by shimmering pale pink panels. Her eyes listed up toward him, lips curving up as she looked at him. At that moment, he was waiting for her to say it. 

"Mando," she said instead, his heart settling, having picked up under her perceptive gaze. "Where are we going next?"

Ever looking toward the broad horizon, he sat across from her, amused by her eagerness to add a planet to her knowledge like notches on a belt. "I received a transmission from Greef Karga - the Guild."

Her dark brows pulled together, her hair so soft and plush looking when it was loose. An overwhelming urge to run his fingers through it made his hand twitch inside his glove. "Why?"

"The Imperial remnants that were there took over the entire town, Guild included. He wants to do a bait trap with you and Grogu. Trick the Client before turning on him."

"Ok."

Din frowned. "Ok?" Too easy. Too simple. She was more cautious than this. 

"It'll clear your name with the Guild and get rid of the Imperials, will it not? But... The Client man, he's not the only one. There's still Moff Gideon," she pointed out, reminding him of when she'd first told him there was more to this remnant outcropping. Hearing that name unsettled him once again. Was it possible that she had met Moff Gideon or someone pretending to be the officer?

"It's clearly a trap," Din pointed out, curious if she'd not seen it.

"Probably," she agreed, tapping her mouth with a thoughtful finger. "But I don't think they're expecting me to have learned so much. I can hold my own when the moment arises. Grogu shouldn't come at all. We can leave him on the ship and just bring the carriage."

"We'll need someone to watch him," he had been thinking about reaching out to a few people, to bring along. Karga had not specified whether or not there could be additional allies. Obviously, he was hoping Din would come alone. 

"Good thing you ' _ know of someone who might be able to help _ '," she pegged him with a wide smile. 

That felt so long ago. "An extra gun might be useful as well."

"What's closer, Sorgan or Arvala-7?" 

Din set the destination for Sorgan first, engaging the hyperdrive before the ship lulled back into the familiar routine. Yet, part of him was hoping that after one of his showers he'd find her waiting for him. To be given a second chance to go through with what had started after she had given him a massage. Would he hesitate again?

It happened once and she was sitting at the table, cross legged, and deep in contemplation. 

Before he could ask her what she was doing, her eyes swept up, darker than usual. "Will you spar me?"

Spar her? The tiny, little thing sitting in front of him. But his sense told him to be wary. The same petite woman had ripped the chassis out of security droids with her bare hands. "Why?"

"Because you're the best fighter I know and I need to gauge where I am," Emma retorted, pushing herself up to her feet. She didn't have any boots on, just a pair of trousers and a blouse. The best fighter? Was that an attempt to lower his guard?

"Where you are," he repeated curiously.

"You've probably realized that I've suddenly become... better at things," she elaborated, plaiting her hair in anticipation. "I've been studying. My magic, the Force, works in mysterious ways. In my dreams, I train, just as if I'm in another physical world. That's where I've been learning and getting better. After... After Tatooine, I realized I couldn't just sit back. That lack of preparation put the both of us in terrible positions."

Reminded duly of that, he spoke, "What happened? Before I arrived..."

Emma's mouth twisted wryly, displeased that he’d brought it up. "Nothing more than you've probably already assumed. Calican surprised me, tricking me into thinking you were injured, and I lowered my guard. I had been taking a shower, so I hastily put my clothes on and was ambushed. Other than that, a few unsolicited touches, you observed the rest."

"Unsolicited touches?" he growled, heat rising in his chest. Scattering in his mind, the image of her dress rode up, hair still wet from coming out of the shower. Toro Calican’s hand placed on her abdomen, her legs trembling together as if he’d touched her there and she was trying to keep him from doing it again.

"Mando, he's dead," she said blankly. "I'm fine. It was only a few brushes."

But there had been the suggestion on Calican's tongue that he was going to rape her when he had a moment. And that he was surprised that Din Djarin hadn’t done the same earlier. Was that what people thought of him? That he was the kind of man who would just take what he wanted, despite the anguish it might cause for another? He was a bounty hunter and did what he had to, but that did not include using his position of power to rape women. 

Rather than wait for him, as he stood there brooding, Emma stepped toward the cleared space of the storage area near where the gangplank would be lowered upon landing. She stretched quickly, raising the tips of her fingers up toward the ceiling before touching her toes. 

"Are you certain you want to do this?" he inquired, putting aside the nastiness of Tatooine, thrusting it into the back of his mind. 

"Are you sure you want to?" Emma taunted. "I'm a scary witch. Who knows what I could do to you."

There was nothing imposing about her. Not to him. She stood there with misplaced confidence. Obviously, she wasn't going to hurt him with her magic, so if it was a feat of strength and speed, he would win. Facing her, they stood, waiting. 

Emma placed her palms together and bowed deeply. He didn't know why, it was a curious thing to do. Her foot slid back into a strong stance as she waited, sinking her weight into her hips. He wasn't going to act first. Why would he? He couldn't throw the first strike at her fair face. But when she remained where she was for a solid minute, Din sighed heavily, his breath hissing out of the vocoder like static. Taking a step toward her, he lunged, about to put an end to this entire charade. Whatever magic dreams she was having, it wouldn't compare to the fact that he was nearly twice her size.

She moved.

It was so slight, a paper thin margin, just only ducking out of the way without effort. Din blinked, curious if what he'd witnessed was correct. Had he missed or had she dodged him? Pausing, he considered her, noticing the trembling quirk at the edge of her lips. And that's when it began.

She was fluid like water, evasive like wind, matching him step for step. His heart hammered, wondering what could last longer: her connection to the Force or his endurance? But each thrust, movement, his heart thundered like a podracer, his breath heavy as he enjoyed the challenge. 

"You're-" he breathed between strikes, not pulling his blows by this point. "-not fighting."

"No, it's more of a game, isn't it?" she chuckled.

A game of tag. He hadn't managed to get a hand on her yet, trying to anticipate her maneuvers. But if he feinted... Din moved to the right, but slid his feet beneath him, pirouetting as she went to dodge his attack. Rather, he spun, moving swiftly to the other side. Emma was exposed, no manner of magic would allow her to counter as she'd devoted her attention to the location of his original strike. His palm checked her hip hard, making her stumble, but she recovered quickly, grabbing his arm.

"No," he warned her, keenly aware of what she was about to attempt, but it wouldn't work on him.

She tried anyway.

She threw the momentum of her attack behind her, but the Force erred and she only tossed her meager weight at him. Din caught her, her hands snapping out to try and stop him from seizing control. But the moment she'd fallen for the feint, she'd been at a disadvantage. Hearing her huff audibly, she still made futile attempts, her punches landing in his palms. Had she been Cara, they would have hurt a lot more, but the Force was no longer as strong as it had been toward the beginning of their game.

Making an attempt to dart back, he gripped her forearm, her leg swiping beneath him. Taking it to the ground was the worst mistake she could have made. Despite the fact that she had this magical connection with the Force, it didn't make up for hard earned experience. Din overpowered her on the ground even easier than on his feet. He flipped her, her scuffling against the cold deck floor quick, but her fingers glanced off his chest as if he were wearing beskar. 

"What did you learn?" he asked her, his chest heaving with the thrill of the fight as he pinned her arms by her sides, straddling her against the steel floor of the Razor Crest.

Emma's face was red and indignant, fuming that she'd lost. "Don't be cocky," she grumbled.

"No, you were doing well at the beginning. But you dragged it on too long," he corrected. "Had you used the Force to focus your strikes instead of doding, you might've bested me."

"I doubt it," Emma grumbled.

He smiled beneath his helmet, also doubting it, but he threw her a bone. "You did ask to spar."

"I know," she snapped, still pouting. "Can you get off of me? You're heavy."

He had taken the dominant position during the grappling, which was easy to forget during their fight where the hands had landed, where he was now, the warmth in his chest as he pressed against her. Thinking back to the time she'd massaged his shoulders, he glanced back down, observing the sweat against the collar of her shirt, the fabric pressed tight to her breasts as she took in labored breaths. Heat misted around his face, from the labor of the fight, but also because of her. 

"Mando," she repeated.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he stood up and helped her to her feet. She rubbed her back, grousing to herself quietly. They would be to Sorgan soon and the ship would have yet another person for company. Perhaps... "Cin'ciri?"

Tilting her head toward him, the expression on her face entreated him. "Hm?"

He stepped toward her, hands still thrumming with the ghost feeling of her body from the fight. Towering over her, his hands fell against her hips, drawing her nearer, questioning eyes pinning him. What to do... 

Gripping the edge of his shirt, he ripped it. Emma's brows strained together, watching him curiously as he removed the thick strip. "Why did you ruin a perfectly good shirt?" she asked, annoyance twinging in the back of her throat. 

He chuckled. "I didn't ruin it for no reason," he assured her, brushing a few pale fly aways from her face. Drawing the fabric up, she flinched slightly, realizing his suggestion. A small hand reached up, not to tug it away, but to press the cloth eagerly against her eyes. He secured it, skimming her cheekbones, tracing a thumb along her mouth as she stood, waiting. Her cheeks flushed, lips parted. "Cin'ciri."

She shivered, rubbing her arms. 

His fingers moved up to his helmet, disengaging the seal before placing it on the nearby table. Revealed to the cool air of the hull, he turned back to drink her in, without the visor of his helmet, he let out a breath that didn't ping him back in the face. Heart burning, he returned to her, drawing a hand along her waist and pulling her into him. Skin hot, becoming blistering at her contact, the hairs on his arm stood up in formation. Her closeness made him sigh, daring to bend down to graze her cheek with his nose. Her skin was soft like silk, tiny translucent hairs prickling as he touched her.

She jumped, clearly not expecting his skin to meet her there. "You don't realize," he muttered, pushing some of her hair back so that he could speak delicately into her ear. "-what you do to me."

"Just... say the word," she requested gently, her hands had moved, curving against his chest, punching tiny crescent moons against his collar. 

The word? No. Not a word, a name. "Emma."

She whined into his ear, the sound making his legs weak. 

"My sweet girl," he muttered, picking her up, her thighs sliding against hips, wrapping around him. Her lips came down to meet him as he drew up against the wall for support. She was soft and warm. With the helmet, he hadn't been able to fully take her in. But without the vocoder blocking things like her aroma, he could smell the slight perspiration from their spar, the clean spring scent of her hair with floral undertones. 

He slid down the wall, finding himself in the same position he'd been before Malk's; her on his lap. Only this time, he could do what he wanted. But this was different. The tenderness of this moment was unlike the passion that had propelled him before. Now, her lips snared with his, blood rushing to his face as he traced the line of her mouth with his tongue. She was still slightly breathless, breaking away for a moment to get some air. 

Din took the moment to trace her neck, her brow pressing to his, _ so close. _ His skin was hot and pleasant, but  _ this  _ was how he wanted it. Her nose brushing against his cheek, nuzzling against the side of his throat. Wrapping his arms around her, Din Djarin held her. This moment - the safety of their embrace stealing his doubts and worries despite what waited for them on Nevarro. 

He sat on the shed floor with his blanket of fresh snow. His Cin'Ciri. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cin’Ciri means ‘snow’ in Mando’a. Also, lowkey, I thought it was amusing that she takes the nickname Ciri and Ciri from the Witcher has white hair too.
> 
> Also, I love y’all, but I totally didn’t intend for the chapter to end this was. It was supposed to be steamy and then it ended up coming out way more tender. But I love it so much moreeee. Sorry, not sorry, about using 'sweet girl'. Din is a fiend and I can't help it.
> 
> Emma begins applying shatterpoint and her master's training! Works reaaaaaal good against droids. Since droids aren't living, Emma had no qualms about destroying them


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cara. Because Cara. She's going to be featured more in the next few chapters because strong females characters are badass and need to stick together. 
> 
> We are going to begin taking a slight canonical diverge. It won't happen in this chapter, but I just wanted to warn you the events of Chapter 7 will be slightly delayed.
> 
> Emma is wearing her brown outfit for much of this chapter - in reference to the links on chapter 8, that would be outfit 1. Told y'all I'm an outfit dweeb. Don't expect it to stop lmfao.

_"Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you."_

* * *

It was just how she remembered it.

Blue sky with a single sun, clouds skimming by in fluffy fronds like swatches of cotton balls. The trees were brilliantly verdant, a clean pine smell enticing her as her boot came down onto soft, peaty soil. Warmth in the air, slightly tacky and comforting in comparison to the cool temperature of the ship. Her skin sang, verses requiring proper coverage so she didn't freeze her tits off. Sorgan was humid, mild, and as fresh as spring phasing into summer in New England. Tilting her head, she hummed slightly as the child trotted after a frog, with obvious malice on his face, fully intending on eating it. 

"Ah-" she stepped after him just as his little claws gripped the frog. "Let it go-" she warned him, not unkindly. Sliding her palms around his, she eased his hands off the poor blue and purple creature before it could meet its maker. "I promise you, we'll get you some broth in the common house. Let's leave the wildlife to live another day."

Grogu complained as the frog hopped away. His eyes turned out, reproachful as he could manage with his bright brown irises. She snorted at him, scooping him up and placing him in the familiar nook against her hip. How long had it been since the two of them had come together? Telling time on a ship traveling through space was difficult. She estimated that they had been with Mando for some months now, but before that, when it was just the two of them... three months? She'd lost count of the days in the lab.

Realization dawning on her, she glanced down at the baby. He'd not grown in the slightest, despite it having been 3 quarters of a year since coming to this galaxy. Yoda had been ancient in the Star Wars series, but Emma did not know how old ancient was. Apparently, he was 50 years old, despite having the mental capacity and appearance of a toddler. Some races in this galaxy were long lived, she also remembered that Wookies were too, another highly memorable character that she could pick out amongst the storyline she'd never cared to commit to memory. 

Part of her wondered if anyone on earth missed her. Now, she was roaming a strange galaxy, beside an armored man, and with a tiny Yoda. Well, he wasn't Yoda, he'd told him herself, but he couldn't tell her what species he was. Between their Forcebond, Emma knew many things about him as he did her. But the more she contemplated it, she wondered how she would be able to train him past the length of her own mortal life. Her master had hinted there were ways to use the Force to stall aging, to be one with the Force, but as her head turned she caught the glint of her companion.

Mando was closing up the Razor Crest, his armor basking in the natural light of Sorgan's sun. Rather than reflecting the cool, flat tones of the inside of the ship, the beskar was warm and beautiful. However, the armor looked best during sunset or sunrise, the way the light would catch right on the chestplate and pauldrons. 

How could she use the Force to stall her aging? Mando didn't have that ability. He would age and die.

Just the thought of that made her heart hurt, thinking slightly of the shared moment they'd had after sparring. While it hadn't evolved further than the solid embrace, her body fitting perfectly against his, listening to the strong beating of his heart... Emma hadn't needed anything more. His helmet had been off and she had felt the curve of his nose pressed into her face, the scruffiness of facial hair he hadn't bothered to shave, and the helmet curls at the back of his neck. 

She'd fallen asleep against him, drinking in the smell of his perspiration with hints of leather, gunoil, and petrichor - from the shower he'd taken just before. There was more to be had, to talk about. Both of them knew that. But rather than bringing it up, they'd simply fell into the moment. He'd ruined his shirt just to kiss her and that thought made her smile, brushing her own mouth slightly as she remembered the feeling of his mustache scratching just beneath her nose. For a man who wore his helmet all the time, he'd been a pleasantly good kisser.

"Where do you think she is?" Emma inquired, still smiling gently at the thought of him. There was no rush in their relationship, an unspoken comprehension that the dominoes would fall on their own naturally. Given that she intended on going nowhere else, Emma wasn't hastened or in a rush. If this was going to last, each of them needed to take their tentative steps when it felt right. And she was also deep in contemplation on whether or not she could share her time on earth with him to the fullest extent. But... she was beginning to think she might be able to. Just not yet.

"We should try the common house first," he suggested.

She did not cover her hair here. Even if they were still being hunted, Sorgan's native posed little danger and her attunement to the Force was stronger than that. Tatooine wouldn't happen again. Not with her dedication to becoming more like a Jedi. Each time she thought of that, her mind went to Reynolds, wondering if his spirit could see her here and that he was hoping for her success. After all, if there was anyone that had been her first master, it had been him. 

_Are you proud, Reynolds? You were always the biggest Star Wars dork. A Song of Ice & Fire was my bane. Are you watching? Can you see me here? I hope you are, in whatever heaven you exist in, I hope it spans galaxies. I hope that you'd be proud of how I'm handling this shit storm. I hope you're getting a few good laughs here and there. _

Taking the road less traveled, she knew it was worn all the same, her boots having carried her this way those months ago. Back when she'd been Staff Sergeant Mars clinging to the fragments of poise. Between the stress of coming to this galaxy, thrust into the movies and books she was unfamiliar with, she had been trying so hard to keep it together. To try and fit in. Ironic how that'd never happen considering her powers. 

She had just wanted to be useful. Not to be a burden for Mando after he'd stuck his neck out for her and Grogu. To repay him. And as she looked at him, she knew that their relationship had developed in a manner that had not been expected. She tried to remain an ally, to just be the medic he'd needed, but... Staff Sergeant Mars was fading, replaced with Cin'ciri, the new woman with a new life in this new galaxy. A clean slate where no one could bring up her old memories, who could recall the wars, who could recall things she had done on earth. True freedom to be what she wanted and to be where she wanted.

If the impending danger of the Empire hadn't threatened them, maybe she would have been here on Sorgan still. 

_No, you would have found your way off this planet somehow,_ she thought smugly. So desperate to learn, to see, to explore - how could she stay in one place when she knew it was so easy to travel amongst the stars? Anyone who was content to remain in one place, whilst having the ability not to, was boring. 

Popping out in the clearing between the trees, the metal yurts were nondescript and taupe against a downtrodden, damp packed, pine needle littered town. Doors open, noise could be heard reverberating throughout the common house, the delicious smell of freshly grilled food making Grogu squirm in her arms. Hopefully he wouldn't try to take it for his own, repeating the drills she was practicing with him, but stealing the food instead of his doll.

Bodies were jam packed like sardines in a can, trying to view an ongoing fight. Emma stood on the tips of her toes, which didn't get her much of anywhere. Being short often had its drawbacks and she couldn't see through the meshing bodies to observe the spectacle. 

Mando gripped her arm, guiding her to the side, making her wonder if he was going to get all overprotective. Last time they'd been at a bar, she'd been solicited by an overconfident pilot who had interest in more than just a conversation. Her companion had made it clear he disliked her being a fixture of attention, especially since she drew in males like a moth to a flame. He wouldn't let her stray, even if it was just Sorgan. 

But that wasn't his intention now. Circling around to the opposite side of the bar, he found a small pocket of space where no one was obscuring the view for her. The corner of her lips quirked as she sidled into the niche, leaning against the bar, Grogu on her opposite hip. Of course one of the fighters was Cara, her raven hair glistening in the natural light that filtered down through the slats in the yurt's ceiling. 

Emma had always thought that Cara was impressive. She was tall, broad, and had muscles that most girls dreamed of their boyfriends having. But she wasn't butch or man-like. Rather she was a pillar of strength, the kind of woman who could outmatch most of her male counterparts, the kind of woman who could've survived US special forces training if she chose to. There was a slight jealousy, the fact that she could stand toe to toe with her foes based only on her physical prowess, whereas Emma had to rely entirely on the Force to make up for the lack of muscles and weight. But she didn't dislike Cara for the way she was. In fact, she thought the ex-Rebel was a remarkable person. A friend. Though she'd been closer to Mando, able to relate to him more than her.

The skin against the back of her neck prickled as she watched the fight, feeling Mando close behind her. Not just close, but pushed up against her. Flitting her eyes to the side, she knew it was because there was little room or even elbowspace. However, amongst the threads of the crowd, he pushed up against her, his belt pressing into the small of her back. Tall and silver, attached to her like Peter Pan's mischievous shadow. Only she doubted Peter Pan's shadow devious in this manner.

Leaning against him, she relaxed in the comfort of having him close by, the icy beskar bleeding through her cloak and pooling it's frosty tendrils between her shoulder blades. She was suddenly so glaringly hot, despite how freezing the beskar was. He didn't move, aside from the stern rise and fall of his breathing. Emma could barely focus on the fight at this point, swallowing the lump in her throat. Why now? Why was she so embarrassingly turned on right now?

Cara won the fight against an alien that was quite similar to the Burg... but also different. His head had various smaller horns rather than the two devil prongs that Burg had. 

"What race was he?" Emma tilted her head back, her crown knocking against his chestplate. 

"Zabrak."

She turned her eyes back toward Cara who was collecting her reward. Repeating the alien species under her breath a few times, she tugged away from Mando's chest. The moment she did, her legs quivered slightly and she forced her arm onto the bar in a mediocre attempt to play off that she'd not felt anything. They could spar when he had no beskar on, when she could see his tanned arms, the muscles of his chest and yet this was what got her? Christ, she was little more than a shivering schoolgirl. 

"Well, if it's not my favorite Mandalorian and Doc," Cara had taken notice of them, which wasn't difficult, given the brilliant glare of Mando's beskar and Emma's bone white hair. Canting her hips against the bar, she eagerly accepted a drink from the bartender - a glowing blue snort of spotchka. "You too, pipsqueak-" she cocked a smile at Grogu. "What brings you back here? Actually considering what I said, Mando?"

Emma was still smiling, but didn't comprehend what Dune was referring to. She tilted her head slightly toward her companion, curious, but didn't harp upon it. 

"Are you looking for work?" Mando asked evenly.

Dune's shoulders sagged in a comical bit of disappointment. "I've been laying low since there's a bounty on my head," she admitted.

"We need extra firepower-" he gestured over to a free table, Emma ordering some broth for Grogu before leaving the bar. Delving into the details revolving around Greef Karga, Dune leaned in, interlocking her fingers and propping her elbows on the table.

"Look, I'd like to help, but I can't risk being brought in. Walking right up to the Guild?" Dune pointed out her plight. True. If she walked right into the Guild she was basically handing over the bounty on her head. Why would she go willingly into a den of snakes?

"The Client is an ex-Imperial warlord."

Dune's face went serious, the relaxed apologeticness disappearing in an instant. Hardened like a gemstone, Emma knew this face. Remembrance, hatred, war. Mando had touched a nerve. Dune had fought the Empire during her war and lacked empathy for the Empire completely. Not that this was unbelievable. The Empire was terrible.

"You really know how to tug my leg, don't you?" Cara grumbled, but in good humor. Her dark eyes turned up and Emma knew in an instant that she'd be with them. "I'm all for knocking Imp heads together."

Emma chuckled, sitting back in her seat, while they waited for Cara to finish up her drink. 

Back on the ship, the kid poked around, showing Dune his doll before running across the shed floor to go find another mess to get into. Mando retreated up into the cockpit, leaving Emma sitting across from Dune at the low table. Her violet eyes trailed after the baby, making certain he didn't grab something like a flash charge again. 

"You look better," Cara remarked as the ship hummed, beginning to take off from the ground.

"Feels like we were just leaving here yesterday," Emma sighed wistfully, thinking wryly of when she'd been cross with Mando. Of course, her fury had guttered out like a candle burned to the stump, but they were still memories of their time together.

"I mean it, you've changed," Dune insisted, rolling her shoulders to crack them lightly.

"Perhaps," Emma admitted, turning her eyes to settle on Cara. "What have you been up to since we left? Beating up all the offworlders for money?"

The woman opposite of her snorted loudly. "Girl's gotta eat somehow."

"I figured that lunch money from the village would have lasted longer. Not exactly the most expensive place."

"I don't always win my fights and I've got to pay up," Dune informed her stoutly.

"You don't always win?" Emma's mouth curved in a smile. "I doubt that."

"While we're on the topic of credits, it seems that the Crest is doing well. You're not wearing those rags," she gestured to Emma's brown blouse and cloak which was embroidered with gold threading. 

"I lucked out. You wouldn't believe me if I told you that I got my new clothes on Tatooine."

"On..." her brows pinched together. "You got those _on_ Tatooine?"

"Apparently, because I'm the size of a krill, I lucked out. The Jawas were in a hurry to get rid of the clothes because they didn't fit anyone else."

Dune chortled. "A krill? I'm supposing Mando called you that."

Amongst other things, but Emma's smile confirmed the soldier's suspicion. Grogu pattered back across the shed, barreling into her hip, rubbing his face all over her cloak. "Oh-" he was wiping snot all over her. "You could have asked for a tissue." But despite her words, there was no depth to them, a benevolent curve to her mouth.

"The womp rat seems to be doing good, considering," Cara observed as Emma found a napkin and began wiping the boogies off her cloak. "You have the patience of a saint."

"You have to be around here," Emma pointed out, laughing with Cara. "And a considerable amount of stubbornness as well, but I suppose patience is the more important characteristic."

"So the two of you are getting along better, I take it?"

"Well, we didn't really _not_ get along," the words came out tumbled and out of order. "He's just willful. Doesn't help that I'm just as unyielding, though in a different manner. I suppose he's lucky I don't hold grudges."

"Don't get my wrong, Doc, but it's difficult to imagine that you have a mean bone in your body. Maybe a stern bone, but mean?"

Emma was never intentionally mean, not to people she liked, but Cara also hadn't seen much of her other sides. "Not that you've witnessed. I can be... overbearing-" she chuckled at the thought, her scolding, her pestering. 

"Between the two of us," Cara leaned forward over the table to drop her voice. "He needs that." But she wasn't referring to Grogu. Her cheeks flushed slightly as she held the baby on her lap, continuing to clean his face as he let out muffled, indignant huffs. "Men don't always know what's best for them. And the most mulish ones need an even stronger woman to rein them in. He's as dense as his beskar."

Emma could not disagree with that, but her cheeks blossomed with color as Dune glimpsed closer toward their true relationship than she would have expected. "You're right about that."

Nodding, she sat back, leaning slightly against the nearby wall. The same seat that Emma had given Mando a massage in. "So, what's up with these Imps? What kind of trouble did you have with them?"

She didn't have the full story. Clearing her throat, she considered what she should say, but knew that Dune was putting everything on the line to help her and Grogu. "We were in their custody being used for experiments," she revealed, brushing her hand subconsciously over Grogu's head as he gnawed on the ear of his doll. 

Cara sat up, her brows twitching slightly, devoting more attention to the conversation. "Experiments?"

"Yes, the both of us were being used for some type of experiment. Our blood was valuable, so we were unwilling donors," she explained, shivering at the thought of being hooked up those machines again. "He had been there before me-" her eyes went down to Grogu.

"When? Where?" Dune pressed insistently. "How long?"

"A few months before I met Mando. We were being relocated to another lab when the ship was boarded by pirates. They took us back to their base on Arvala-7. Given the strategic position of their compound, it was difficult for any bounty hunters to extract us. Mando was the successful one, along with some kind of hunter droid. The droid intended on bringing us in cold and Mando killed it," she let the details fall out, her friend bowing toward the conversation as she finally gleaned how the pair was with the Mandalorian. "He turned us in, but had a change of heart. He broke us out of the lab and abandoned the Guild." That was rather simplified, but she didn't know how Cara would react to learning about the Force. People didn't really seem to know about it.

"Experiments," she hissed, pressing a few fingers to her mouth in perturbed thought. "I knew there will still be remnants, but those kriffing bastards... Where were you before all this? Where's your home?"

Emma should have expected that question would come eventually, but she squirmed in her seat slightly. "Uh-" licking her lips, she knew what the right thing was to do. "I'm not... from around here."

"Obviously not the Outer Rim. You look part Arkanian. I always assumed one of the Core Planets. I mean, I can understand if you're nobility and don't really want to share that."

"I'm not," Emma insisted, drawing a deep breath before settling her eyes on Cara. "I'm from the Milky Way. Earth."

Sitting back, Cara unclenched her fist, her face contorting in confusion. "Where?"

"Earth."

"I... don't know that planet. Where is it?"

"In the Milky Way galaxy."

Cara didn't ask another question and Emma felt as if she'd made a mistake. She reached out with the Force, trying to glean more information, to see how the other woman felt. "Another galaxy?"

Emma nodded slowly.

"Fuck."

 _She believed her._ Emma wanted to cry with relief, but managed a pitiful chuckle. 

"How the hell is that possible?"

"Wormholes. Or so I've been told. My own planet can barely go out of orbit with live people, let alone across our own galaxy. All this... is quite... different."

"So you were taken from your home, became an experiment, and brought to a completely new galaxy. Kriff, you're handling it astonishingly well."

"We don't have any other races aside from humans, so yeah, it was a bit of a shock. But... Earthlings are very creative. There's a lot of stories, fiction, ideas of what might be on the horizon-" she thought to her own passions, the fantasy of _Lord of the Rings_ and of _Game of Thrones_. "I was able to adjust. But I still have so much to learn."

"Just humans?" Cara's eyes burned into her, jaw slightly slackened. "When I asked Mando where he'd found someone like you, I wasn't expecting the answer to be another galaxy," she grumbled, fussing with some of her hair. "Do you miss it?"

"I miss... some of the places there," she admitted. "Like Mt. Washington, the beaches of Cape Cod, maybe even my favorite city, Boston, but-" she tilted her head slightly. "Those are just places. And earth is one planet. I have the opportunity to travel the entire galaxy and find new places to miss."

"But a family? You didn't have friends, family, a job..."

"I did, but it's complicated. I had just lost my job, I was in the army for 10 years as a combat medic. I returned to civilian life and was attempting to become a doctor, going through medical school, but the days were long and dark. I just existed. Traveling on earth is very expensive, so it's not as if I could have sated my wanderlust. And school, while covered by my benefits, was also very expensive." Her mind went to Tufts, to the indifference she'd felt being in the cold sterile labs staring at cadavers. Phasing back into civilian life was always difficult, didn't matter where you worked in the army. Everyone had trouble, because civilian life was so much more relaxed and lacked that familiar regiment and comradery. "Wasn't really living. Wasn't really a purpose. But here, I've got this little one to look after."

Cara considered her, giving a slow nod. "Do you want to go back? I mean, if you could and this one is safe?"

"No." She didn't have to think about it. "There's nothing for me there. Just bills and the same emptiness."

"And you weren't nobility on earth?" Cara teased, lightening the conversation.

Emma gave her a wry look. "Oh yeah, I was the princess of the planet. Couldn't deal with the pressure. So I'm relieved I got abducted," she drawled sarcastically. "How many nobles do you know who served in the military? I don't know any."

"Might not be common where you're from, but it's not uncommon here," Cara pointed out to her chagrin.

"No, I was as common as they come. My dad was a soldier before me. And his dad before that. We had a history of military service, so it only felt right for me to follow in his footsteps."

"It was optional?"

Emma laughed and began to tell Cara all about her life. Well, the easy parts anyways. How civilization was in America, how her childhood was, and how she'd been waiting to take the gauntlet. Cara was astonished to hear that women weren't allowed combat roles until recently, which was why Emma had deferred to the job that would bring her closest to the action. Talking to Dune was different from Mando. He interacted with her, but Cara vied for more, wanted to comprehend with all her heart. Of course, she expected that Mando did too, but there was a lot more back and forth between her and the shock trooper.

But the longer that Grogu was on her lap, the more she realized he was growing restless. He grabbed the end of her braid and yanked. She knew this was signalled, but was also sitting right in front of Dune. There was a song on the back of her tongue, but not a song that she could sing in front of anyone other than Grogu. Perhaps it was because of how close it soared to her own feelings, imagining the nonexistent piano playing around her. She'd taken lessons when she was young before swapping that out for sports. Not that there were pianos in this galaxy, at least she hadn't seen any so far. There were frogs, so it was completely possible. 

"Excuse me, he's got to go down," Emma told Cara, drawing their conversation to an end as he thrashed in her grip. "If you keep acting like this, I'm not going to do it," she warned him quietly, his writhing ceasing immediately. Drawing a short breath, she puffed up the ladder, the only place she'd be able to put him to sleep would be behind closed doors. But... 

Mando tilted his helmet slightly, the visor turning to glimpse her from his peripherals as she sat down, bouncing Grogu on her knee. The ship was moving through hyperspace again, which was curious... Why hadn't he come down? Perhaps a little bit of quiet before the ship had yet another person. 

"These doors... they're quite soundproof, right?" Emma inquired.

"When they're closed," he said slowly. 

When they were closed. He didn't close them very often when it was just the three of them. Not for a while anyways. "He's being petulant and I know the bunk is not soundproof. So if you don't mind-" she was hoping he'd leave her, but such a hope was clearly misplaced. He hadn't left the last time and it was easier to sing when she was pretending he wasn't right there listening. 

Grogu placed his palm against hers, not to be reassuring, but because he wanted something. He had been listening to things about earth and there had been a few times when she'd told him Disney fairytales. 'Beast.'

"Oh, I don't know if we have time for that Grogu," she chided, even though there was plenty of time before they would arrive on Arvala-7. 

"What does he want?" Mando had turned his chair completely.

"A story. He wants to hear about Beauty and the Beast again."

His helmet cocked to the side, making her laugh.

"I tell him stories from earth sometimes. Beauty and the Beast is a story, filled with songs and easy to remember... Sort of like Mulan," she elaborated, feeling the kid bounce on her lap excitedly. 

"I don't think you have much choice in the matter," Mando observed. 

"I guess... I can tell it again," she sighed, but turned her eyes back toward him. "It's a children's tale."

"Mulan seemed interesting. What is Beauty and the Beast about?"

"What does it sound like?" she smarted.

"A woman and a beast?" he suspected blandly.

"Pretty much. See, you already know the story."

Her intention was to get him out of the room so she could tell it more freely, but that hope was beginning to fade quite quickly. 

"There's a while before Arvala-7...." he drawled, almost awkward, as if he didn't want to ask her to begin.

"Well... I'm not singing all the songs. I don't know them all by heart," she sniffed, drawing in a deep and dramatic breath, heart burning nervously in her chest. Mulan wasn't a romance story, but Beauty and the Beast was. Giving one more look at Grogu, she wondered if the mischievous child was aware of what he'd requested. That wasn't possible was it? No, she wasn't giving him enough credit - it was totally possible that he knew the inferences that might be drawn. Mando wasn't quite a beast, but the idea of not knowing someone's true face and falling for them anyways... 

_You're a stinking little womp rat. Torturing me like this,_ she thought moodily, trying not to betray her bitterness. 

Emma started, delving into the story that took place in a remote corner of the French countryside, about a girl who kept her nose between the pages of books. The thought made her smile, reminded of herself as a girl, reading stories of epic fantasy - trying to escape from the world. While she didn't quite sing Belle, she did manage the villager's voices enough that Grogu laughed. Her rendition wasn't absolutely perfect, but Emma was born to be a storyteller. Putting her own inflections, her own metaphors and similes to the story, she outlined the basic form and included the conversation she remembered.

Focusing on the child, it was easier to tell it to him, though she caught the reflection of Mando's beskar, the winking of the tears of starlight in hyperspace illuminating the metal brightly. Clearing her throat, she continued, watching as the child was growing weary and sleepy part way through the story. 

"Now, I'm no Josh Groban, but the Beast did have a song. One that he sang after he let Belle go-" she drew a breath, she knew the song well enough. An addition to the live action movie that she'd absolutely fallen in love with and was guilty of listening to on repeat for hours. If there were pinnacle songs she would sing amongst the story, aside from Gaston, Be Our Guest, and Beauty and the Beast - this was one she knew enough of to make a solid pass. Her voice was high compared to the solid baritone that was supposed to sing it, but keeping her voice even, she was able to take it up the octave.

Erring quietly on the dramatic end of Evermore, she smiled gently as the baby fell asleep. The story wasn't even over, but it had done the trick. 

"What happens?"

She blinked, forgetting that Mando was there because he'd not moved for the better part of an hour. He was hunched forward, his elbows sitting on his leg plates, gloves clasped together. "Belle returns to him," she said. 

"But how?"

Emma paused, the corners of her lips beginning to curl up. "I can finish it later-"

"How?" he insisted.

"Well, Gaston takes the mob to his castle to slay him. Belle shows him the magical mirror when people tell her no such creature exists. Remember, there was magic hiding the castle from memory... So he takes the village to break down the castle doors. Beast, who is broken-hearted barely has the will to fight. But Belle manages to get there in time, to show him that she really does care for him, and it gives him the will to fight again. However, his hesitation allows for Gaston to land a true blow on him. He defeats Gaston, but is mortally wounded-"

"So he dies? I thought this was a tale for children," Mando's voice was cross coming out of his vocoder.

"If you just let me finish," Emma huffed. "Belle rushes to his side. Now, do you remember the rose? The witch said that all would be reversed in the castle if someone loved the beast. Belle admits to loving him as he's dying, begging him not to leave her. The last petal on the rose does not fall. Instead, in her arms, Beast's curse is reversed. Turning the inhabitants of the castle, the Beast, and the grounds themselves back to who and what they were before. Beast becomes human once more and since he is restored, as is his wound. And they live happily ever after."

Mando just stared. She wasn't certain if he liked the story or not. Either way, the child was asleep now. Pushing herself off the seat, she only managed to turn away from the chair before leather brushed her free hand. Her skin prickled, glancing down at Mando who was still hunched in his chair in thought. His fingers had brushed out, almost as if he thought about grabbing her hand, but had drawn his own back

"It's a child's tale, try not to overthink it," she teased.

Below deck, she set Grogu in his hammock and glanced over toward Cara. She'd fallen asleep against the wall with the spare blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Smiling faintly, Emma glanced back up to the cockpit. Rather than let him brood, she retrieved rations and water, returning to see if he was still just loitering in his chair. 

"You know a lot of stories," Mando stated.

"Yes, I enjoyed stories. Here, since you've resigned yourself to hiding in here," she motioned to the food, setting it on the nearby chair. "Uh, I told Cara... Not everything, but I told her about earth."

"Good. She deserves to know," Mando nodded slowly. 

"Do you think this is going to work out?" she asked, wishing for an honest answer and not a hopeful lie. She had spoon fed enough lies to the dying and was not keen to be delivered the same. "I... I've got a bad feeling about this all."

"It should only be the remnant," he told her calmly. 

"I know, but... I don't think that it is just a remnant. Mando - I..." she couldn't formulate the words. "Give me your hand. I can show you what I saw. I think..."

He paused, as if the idea of her touching him with her magic was worrisome. But after a moment of hesitation, he peeled off his glove and offered his tanned fingers. Emma swallowed, placing her palm in his and focusing the images - the day she had boarded the ship, how large it was in the sky above Boston, the flash of the police cruisers, the cool walls and the milling of the Imperial officers and stormtroopers around her, their jabs toward earth. But while she went over these pictures, there was a distinct tug, a tendril was being tugged.

Was it Mando? How? He didn't wield the Force. The child was asleep. But the images snapped like a rubberband, flinging itself over to other memories she hadn't intended on sharing. 

"I can't believe you," her voice was hot in the back of her throat, so raw and edgy that it grated. Throwing the coyote brown bag over her shoulder, her eyes leveled toward a man. He was tall, athletic, and had shaggy dirty blonde hair. Ironic how she'd said the SEAL wasn't her type and yet her fiancé had just turned out to be the civilian, less muscular and impressive version of him. But that wasn't why she had dated him. She'd dated Erik because he was safe, he had a good job, treated her well, and she had trusted him. But it had never been a passionate romance, it was simple and built upon over the years.

He stood there in just his boxers. "Em, it wasn't anything-"

"Wasn't anything? Do you think I'm fucking blind? That was Jenn in there! I wanted to surprise you at work, but I was stopping home first and saw your car. Is this why your calls stopped? I get back from a two year deployment and find out you're no better than most army wives. But the worst part? My sister? _Really_?"

Erik had been caught red handed, but he was confident enough that he thought he could play it off. Or that maybe Emma would forgive him as she always forgave. Not this time. "You were gone for so long-"

"I told you that my life is my job. I warned you of that when we started dating. I told you that I would always take any deployment that came over my desk. If you didn't want to marry me, you should have told me instead of buying this fucking house with my money. So that you could fuck my sister in _our_ bed."

"We had a house together! We've been together for years. I only imagine you're screwing your army buddies while you're overseas. Let me guess, before Reynolds got himself offed, the two of you were two little peas in a pod-"

Something in her snapped, her hand moving, flying down to where her handgun was concealed. The malice fell right off his face as she cocked the gun. "What did you just say about Reynolds?"

"E-Emma, put the gun down."

"What the fuck did you just insinuate between Reynolds and I?" Tears were burning in the corners of her eyes, biting her mouth as she thought of her mentor. "He had a wife and kids! I'm not a homewrecker like you. How the fuck could you bring him up right now? He was like an older brother to me. And you insult his memory right to my face after sleeping with Jenn-"

Her sister padded out, clutching a blanket around her, trying to obscure her lack of clothing. Brown eyes widened at the gun her sister was brandishing. "Emma," she startled carefully. "Please put the gun down."

"You're right," Emma laughed, twisted and harsh. "Neither of you are worth it. So much for blood, right? I should have never left Afghanistan-" she lowered the pistol. "Well, I hope the both of you are proud. Erik, get your shit out of my house. I want it all gone by the end of the day. Jenn-" she scoffed, flipping the holster back over the weapon. "-there's a special place in hell for someone like you."

Her sister's eyes began brimming with crocodile tears. "Em-" she protested, taking a step toward her. "I was just trying to comfort him. You were gone for so long, I-"

"Save it."

Emma gasped, stumbling back and feeling her skin itch all over as she gripped the dash of the ship. None of that had been her intention, how it had slipped out amongst the images of the Empire, she did not know. Mando was rigid in his seat, but mechanically turned toward her. Heart beating like a bird with a broken wing trying to fly, she clutched at her collar, eyes wide. 

"I-" How embarrassing was that? The fact that she'd pulled a gun on her ex-fiancé and sister. Now Mando knew what she had done and the blood rushed to her face all at once. That was not a memory she wanted to share with someone she had developing feelings for. That side of her... that awful, ugly side of her was something that she wanted to keep out of this galaxy. No words would suffice to pardon the horror she felt, instead, she began for the door.

"No."

She froze by the controls, eyes leering into the grey steel as her ears rang. The chair creaked behind her, his boots clicking against the floor as he approached. Emma's skin prickled and she closed her eyes finally, clutching her fists at the mistake she'd made. 

"What-" he was so quiet that it made her jaw tremble. Jumping at his touch, leather cruised against her shoulders, brushing aside her hair before trailing up her exposed neck. "-did you see in him?"

A quivering breath was drawn into her chest, the gloves curving under her jaw, tilting her head up so she could gaze into the dark visor that was positioned above her. Forced to look into eyes she could not see as his beskar pressed to her back. The cloak and blouse still did not cut the edge of the cold, making her shudder as she stared half-lidded and shameful. 

" _Cin'ciri_?" he prompted, his fingers tightening around her jaw. 

"Simplicity. Quiet. Ease," she answered, her voice just a whisper. "A home to return to after the war. To decompress and pretend that I could fit in. A picturesque dream, but it was backward. Erik always felt inferior because of me, though I didn't do it intentionally. His own parents would taunt him about me being in the service, having a real man's job, the honor to fight for the country-"

"He _was_ inferior," his voice was deep, vibrating against her back with such power that her legs quivered. "And a coward. Caught in the act and he tried to turn it on you."

"You weren't supposed to see that," Emma muttered. 

"Yet another reason you don't wish to return? How long ago was that?"

"Three years ago."

"He had this-" his hand moved down from her throat, pulling against her neck until it roamed the plane of her collar. "-and didn't know how lucky he was? To have a soldier fighting for him for two years..." She closed her eyes, shuddering against the smooth glide of the fingertips of the gloves, sinking back against his strong, sturdy body. "You should have shot him."

Emma laughed, voice cracking pitifully. "I didn't have a starship to hop onto to run away. If I shot him, I would have been arrested, discharged from the military, and lost all I'd worked for."

"He was a boy," Mando told her, the husk of his baritone voice in her ear, making the hairs stand straight up against her neck. "When you were a woman. It was only a matter of time. He could have never taken care of you." His other hand caressed over her scalp, pulling fronds of ivory hair back and away from her face, nestling her head back into the top of his beskar chestplate, the edge digging just into the base of her head.

"I was emotional. Reynolds had died during that deployment. During the first year," she told him. "I lost my temper because of that."

"Did you love him? Reynolds?"

"Yes, but not like you're suggesting. Reynolds was my mentor. He took me under his wing and taught me everything. I swore after that... that I'd never let another soldier die."

"Cin'ciri," he sighed, comprehending where the story was going to go. 

"I saw three more die after him," tears welled in her eyes, the words as sharp as arrows. "Two I knew I couldn't save. Jones was the last one before I was discharged. I... told him he was going to go home. And disobeyed direct orders to be beside him under fire. I could only think... that he didn't deserve to die staring at a sandbag. He needed to see a friendly face, one who would hold his hand and remind him of home."

"And the third?" he eased gently, fingers sliding through her hair in a comforting manner as he held her canted to him by her hip. 

"Was Private Gosling," drops fell as she closed her eyes, leaning off her lashes as she struggled to control her voice. "She... was not a casualty of war. Not directly. She tried to commit suicide while on deployment. Usually... women will go for the easiest method, be that poison or overdosing on pills. It's hard to get that many pills on deployment. She tried to hang herself instead. Or at least, that's what we all assumed when we put her on bedrest and watch. I was called again when she started to have shortness of breath and was bleeding from her nose and gums.

"Before trying to hang herself, she'd ingested a large quantity of rat poison. I didn't know what was happening until she had a heart attack. She was only 18. Come to find out, she had been sexually assaulted and was pregnant. Rather than return home or seek justice she took her own life-" Even behind her closed lids, she could see the girl's visage as she bled out of nearly orifice. The confusion Emma had felt - not being a doctor, not being trained for something like that - as the girl went into a fit of seizures before her heart gave out.

"And what of the ones you helped? The soldiers that you helped?"

Emma hesitated, stifling a quivering breath. Her failures had always been blinding in her mind, but how many had she patched off and sent back home? How many soldiers had she crossed that didn't meet a terrible death? "I don't know," she mumbled.

"There's more alive, aren't there?" he let his question hang on the air. "You can't save everyone."

"I can try."

"You _did_."

Her teeth chattered together, his hand still smoothing her hair. The steady hum of the ship, the memories an entire galaxy away, the warm embrace of the Mandalorian behind her as he gleaned the worst moments of her life all at once. 

"War always takes lives. Tell me, what could you have done differently to change the outcome of any of those deaths?"

Nothing. They had all been doomed. A sob rattled out of her chest, unable to stop herself from breaking down completely. He caught her, already having a strong grasp on her, before she could slither to the ground in a crying puddle. Drawing an arm under her legs, he picked her up like a child and sat back down in his seat with her on his lap. Her burning, wet discomfited face pressed into the gap between his pauldron and chestplate, into the thick cloth of the armorweave shirt. 

"I'm sorry," she wailed softly, voice muffled as she spoke into his flank. 

"Sh," he hushed. " _Vaabir nayc jorhaa'ir. Orjorer par gar kyrayc tomade_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: "Do not speak. Cry for your fallen comrades/allies."
> 
> Also Grogu was totally like "Now kith", setting up his parents with just the right Disney fairytale.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not full on smut this chapter, but a bit of spicy pining. Just a fair warning for y'all :)

_“Everytime we go to deal with the enemy, we find two more.”_

* * *

"We can't go to Nevarro."

He barely believed he was saying those words to Cara Dune's face after taking her off of Sorgan. But given the images that had flipped through his mind, the detailed, raw images - he knew that this wasn't just a remnant. Cin'ciri had shown him a faction, a large power of the Empire that was still lurking within the dark cloak of the Outer Rim. This was not an ex-warlord who needed to be arrested or ended. The Empire was trying to regain enough strength to throw themselves at the New Republic again and what better place than the Outer Rim? It was sparsely patrolled and only the planets closest to the Mid Rim saw any traffic from the Republic.

But that wasn't the only thing on his mind as he sat beside Ciri. She'd accidentally showed him more than she had anticipated, revealing snippets of her life back on earth, personal traumas and betrayals. By the look she'd given him when she broke away, he knew that it hadn't been intentional. Her husband to be, a tall sinewy man who looked more like a teenager than adult. Nude, save for his underclothes as he bedded her sister. 

In Mandalorian culture, there was an unspoken agreement between spouses. If one of them went to war, any infidelity would be forgiven. But that applied to the person who went to war, not the one who remained home. Ciri had been faithful, returning to a soiled home, a home she had paid for with her hard work and the blood of her comrades. And this home was that her own kin betrayed her in. He did not fault her for pointing a gun at them in her fury. Instead, he commended her for not pulling the trigger, considering all she suffered to come home and have that as the cherry on top of the cake. 

But Din could not comprehend why it had happened in the first place. To have her, to have this amazing woman as your own, and to throw it away because you were unable to suffer solitude while she was at war... Erik was weak. To Din, he was no better than scum on the bottom of his boot. So much pain, in someone so young. In his Cin'ciri. He'd not truly understood until he saw the picture more clearly and heard the stories from her lips. Comforting her was becoming second nature, which was strange.

Din Djarin had never comforted anyone before. He's always been the master of his own fate, never needing anyone. But the day she'd stumbled out from beneath a tarp, demanding that he'd not hurt the child... was the day he'd let someone steal into his melancholy heart. And now, he wanted to ease her pain as she cared for him, always scrutinizing him after a mission, always clucking like a mother hen and poking at him until she was satisfied that he wasn't hurt. He'd found it annoying, hell, he still did. But the fact that someone did care like that had moved him.

Those memories she relived had come to touch the light of day as he eased them out of her gently. He never expected such raw and terrible things, realizing that she blamed herself for all of it. Fate was cruel, but now she was far away from that and needed to leave her the fault she owed those ghosts amongst the stars in the Milky Way. They were dust and she was alive. He doubted that any of them would want her to continue suffering in their memory, the kind healer who had tried to do everything she could for them, still trying to grasp their hands beyond the veil. 

Staff Sergeant Mars needed to be let go. 

She was becoming someone else and while her experiences had shaped her, helped her adjust to this new, foreign place, now she was tethering herself to the abyss. Din couldn't force her to let go, but he could hold her hand until she was ready. He was beginning to suspect that day was drawing closer. 

"What?" Cara's voice was clear, articulate, and pissed.

Ciri reacted first, before Din could come up with a deadpan remark. Leaning forward, she implored Cara with her body language, the engaged tilt of her helmet, lowering of her shoulders to seem more friendly. "I explained to Mando about my experience with the Empire. He has agreed that what I encountered is not a remnant warlord like we suspected. You know my situation, not being from this galaxy, so I didn't really comprehend what I saw. However, what I saw was-" her eyes flickered over toward him for better clarification. "-Super Star Destroyer or... Dreadnaught?"

He nodded.

The original rage was replaced with horror as Cara pursed her lips and sat back against the wall. "Are you certain?"

"Yes, its shadow covered an entire city when it took me from Earth," Ciri assured her. 

"This is bigger than us. Much bigger," Cara breathed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she rapidly considered what to do. She was the Rebel afterall, she would be the one who had Galactic Republic contacts. 

"I have an idea," Ciri started, not tentative, but testing the waters as she set her jaw. There was a diplomatic air around her, calm yet stern. "There is someone who can help. On Coruscant there is someone who could use this information."

"Coruscant? What do you know about Coruscant?" Cara inquired, not eager to go so deep into the Core.

Ciri had come to him earlier after she had a dream. In her dream, she saw a woman who could help them - an important woman. However, this would require going to Coruscant's upper echelons of society in order to gain an audience with her. This sounded preposterous, because he knew they'd never be allowed up there. However, a cryptic expression had come over her, promising that the woman was expecting them now.

"I know it's an urban planet. And I know that Leia Skwalker Organa Solo resides there," Ciri retorted smoothly.

"Princess Leia?" Cara recognized the name clearly by the way her brows shot up. "You know who Princess Leia is? How?" Dark eyes swept over to him as if Din had any idea who this princess was. "She was the princess of Alderaan before..." Before the planet had been decimated by the Empire during the war, reducing the peaceful planet to nothing more than rocks and spacedust. 

"Yes," Ciri agreed easily.

"I mean, telling someone as important as her about this would be the thing to do, but I don't really understand how we're going to gain an audience with her. She's probably one of the most busy and difficult people to see and I expect that's while being a politician or nobility," Cara elaborated, becoming slightly flustered by the idea of this all. 

"We have an audience with her," Ciri promised her, which did not suffice for Cara. 

"What, did you send over a hologram and tell her you're an earthling?" Cara asked dryly. 

"If anyone can clear your name, it would be her," Ciri pointed out. 

"Or, they'll arrest me right on sight."

"Do you think that I'd encourage that you come if I knew I'd be leading you right into cuffs?" 

"Apparently you think you've got an audience with Princess Leia, so I'm not really certain what you think anymore," Cara retorted haughtily, her glare settling on Din next. "Tell me you haven't set navigation for Coruscant. There is no way in hell we're getting an audience with Princess Leia."

Part of him was nagging, telling him that he should agree with Cara and that they should just lay low. However, he'd seen the images, the pictures of the impressive ship spanned over an entire city. While it was an earth city, it had been large. Amethyst eyes burned into his helmet, imploring him, trusting him. He believed her because he believed her magic. How else would she know of Coruscant? He'd never mentioned it to her before. 

"We do have an audience with her," his voice was slightly strangled, the admission of trusting something utterly intangible to him, deeply discomforting.

"I should show her," Ciri suggested, understanding that Dune could not fathom this was possible until she saw what he knew. "The reason I was taken from earth," she started slowly. "Was because I am gifted. I am bonded to the Force, which lives and exists in all things. Everyone has a minute connection, but there are some of us - like Grogu and I - who have powerful connections. To us, it is malleable, and we can wield it."

To prove her point, she lifted her hand and Cara's cup of water floated up into the air as if there were no gravity. 

"This is one of the more minor things I can accomplish. However, I am able to establish connections with others who possess the same abilities," the cup placed back down carefully, as if guided by an invisible hand, and Cara watched with wide eyes. "Princess Leia is also Force-Sensitive. I found her and contacted her during my meditations. She is aware that we will be coming."

Cara's hands pressed to her face, running down along her cheeks as a breath hissed from between her fingers. "First earth. Now magic. What the fuck. Mando have you known about this the entire time?"

He nodded slowly. "Her abilities weren't this refined back on Sorgan. I don't really understand it, but she and the child both have this connection... to the Force," he admitted, watching as the Rebel was having difficulty coming to terms with this.

"Fuck," she muttered again, still processing it. "What... else can you do?"

"I can share things, be that memories or images. I can also sense danger before it happens, sort of like a premonition. If I focus hard enough I can see without seeing, but it's simply a rough outline, none of the details are clear. I can use the Force to make my body stronger, quicker, more agile. I can-" she hesitated, considering, before continuing, "I can wield a certain kind of weapon, which I do not have yet. Although Princess Leia may be able to point me in the right direction."

She could also persuade the weak willed, which Din had observed before, but the ability must've skipped her mind or she didn't want to unsettle Cara further. 

"Show me," Cara demanded more proof.

"Well..." Ciri puzzled for a moment and then offered her hand. "I can show you some of earth. At least, some of my favorite places."

Dune was hesitant, but eventually reached out to grasp the small palm. Her eyes glazed over, seeing images that were playing like a theatre before her eyes. Jaw slackening slightly, Din nearly snorted, but assumed he must have looked much the same under his helmet when Ciri had shown him before. 

A few moments passed before Dune choked back to life, blinking her dark lashes before ogling his Cin'ciri. "That..." her eyes suddenly became watery, but she strained her brows and fought them back. "Place reminds me of Alderaan."

"The mountains? I used to hike it at least once a year," Ciri smiled delicately, warm and knowing. 

"S-so," Cara stammered, trying to regain her composure as she closed her eyes, settling back, arms crossed to display her impressive muscles. "Coruscant."

"Coruscant," Ciri grinned.

* * *

Traveling along a main trade way took for much quicker travel than jumping into hyperspace without a route to fast track. They landed in the spaceport hangar in the Uscru District. Din Djarin was a well traveled man, but he had always stayed away from this part of Coruscant. Not because it was filthy, slimy, or dirty. No, quite the contrary. He had stayed away from the Uscru District because it was the wealthiest part of the planet and he would stick out worse than he did everywhere else. There were seedier under levels, just as there were elsewhere around Coruscant, but the upper tiers were absolutely stunning.

Golden lights framed by pale blue flames, pointed and dramatic architecture, cathedrals and art. The civilians milling around this region of the planet were in finely tailored clothing, women sporting shimmersilk scarves and gemstones. Law enforcement actively patrolled the streets, wary for any scuppers who might be stupid enough to try and worm their way amongst the elite who galavanted on the town without a worry. As night cast shadows, Coruscant was never truly dark. The sky was brightened to an orange haze from all the light pollution and the Uscru District hummed as a palace-like campus.

He was thankful that Ciri had finer attire to wear that made her look as if she belonged amongst the crowd. She sported a dark blue draped gown, wearing her hair as normal, keenly aware that one of them had to look right amongst high society. For now, it would appear that she was being escorted by Din and Cara. Locked in his pram, Grogu floated silently nearby as he left his ship in the hangar, wondering how much this spaceport cost a day. He didn't want to think about it.

She hadn't been here before, but her feet brought her to the spaceport's glitzy bar. Crystals dripped down from the walls, shimmering with the refracting ice blue lights, making them look as if they thrummed with a heartbeat. Edging carefully in Ciri's shadow, he noticed that Cara was just out of depth as she flanked him. This wasn't the sort of place either of them would have been caught dead in. 

Eyes trailed after them, some curious, most haughty and pensive. However, there was a significant lack of scoundrels that might try and pester his Cin'ciri, which was a welcomed change. Flouncing over to a table, she sat down and waited patiently. Only a few minutes passed before their contact arrived. 

"This sounds like absolute bantha shit to me, Leia. I know that Luke told you to trust in the Force, but come on now? You really think-" a tall man with brown hair flanked a woman who was the same height and similar build as Ciri. However, her eyes and hair were a warm, chestnut brown. She was gilded in a glorious amber dress, the pregnant swell of her belly clear as she hobbled down between tables. 

"Han, stop it. I think I see her there," the woman's voice was mellow, warm, and rang with indignance.

Ciri stood up in anticipation as the pair approached. 

Din knew immediately that the man beside the princess was not... of noble birth. Leia carried herself in a different manner, aglow with radiance, and moving with effortless elegance and grace. However, the look she shot up the man - so wry and smug - reminded him of a certain someone. "Emma," the princess stepped forward, almost as if the two were acquaintances. 

But it was Emma who did the strangest thing. She gave a delicate bow, pressing a hand to her collar as she did so. Cara actually had to suppress a laugh as she watched her. "I-" Ciri realized immediately that she'd done something wrong. "Is that not how you greet royalty?"

The tall man burst into laughter. "Nevermind, Leia. Doubts quelled," but the moment his eyes slid over to Din, they sharpened once again and his hand moved toward his blaster. 

"Stop it," Leia hissed at him. "The three of them are together."

"With a Mandalorian? I'm sorry, but last I checked, Jedi and Mandalorians were not best friends," Han spat back nastily.

"From what you know. A lot has changed in the galaxy. Before Luke you didn't even know what a Jedi was," Leia snipped, rolling her eyes at the man. "Forgive my husband, he's overprotective and doesn't always believe the Force. Please, let us sit, my feet are killing me."

The new pair sat with them at the table, Leia beside Ciri. 

"A kriffing Mandalorian," Han grumbled beneath his breath. 

"I was surprised when you reached out to me. I've never... felt a pull so strong by anyone other than my own brother," Leia spoke to Ciri, tilting her head toward the other petite woman. "But from what you've told me already, the Empire is stirring out amongst the Outer Rim."

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Ciri pursed her lips. "More than just stirring. There is sensitive information that I'd like to share with you, but I do not believe it is safe to pass it here."

"Oh, so now the 'Jedi' wants to go back to our place with a Mandalorian and-" Han's eyes narrowed on the stripes on Cara's shoulder. "You... You were a shock trooper." He clearly did not know her personally, but he knew her marks. 

"I don't have a lightsaber," Ciri informed him, wrinkling her nose slightly. "I'm unarmed. However, my companions are a bit... wary. I would dare you to try and take the weapons from him, but they're part of his religion, so I presume you understand where that might get you."

"They're not going to hurt us, Han," Leia persisted. "And this seat is uncomfortable. I see no harm in bringing them back to the house. She has already shown me her true intention, there is no malice in a single bone in her body. You're a healer, are you not?"

"Of a sorts," Ciri smiled.

Han grumbled, but clearly knew that he wasn't going to win this fight. "Fine. But the Rebel leaves her weapons at the door and the Mandalorian stays at the door."

"I'm not leaving her side," Din informed him tersely.

Han paused, leering into Din's dark visor, before rolling his shoulders in a nonplussed manner. "Didn't think you bucketheads had any feelings. Learn something new everyday."

"Mandalorians reproduced somehow," Leia jabbed, refusing Han's helping hand as she pushed herself to her feet. "Emma, please walk with me. My husband is being insufferable. You're much better conversation."

Han flapped his gums silently, but decided that placing a brooding glare on Din was a much better course of action. They left the bar, walking amongst the tastefully lit covered bridges, getting a full view of the slender, elegant buildings that knifed up to the sky. A lot of people lived there, conducting their lives day in and day out. He wondered what they did, how they did not grow bored, how all of this was the pinnacle of society.

For people who lived amongst the upper echelons, Leia and Han bickered quite a bit. He found it difficult to see if there was any depth behind it or if this was just how they were. 

Their journey brought them not to a house, as had been stated, but an impressive manse nestled within the copse of a much larger gothic building. While it was not a palace, Din supposed that the size within was comparable. Smooth marble floors, cool white pillars, gold flecked walls with masterly hewn molding. 

"Weapons and shoes by the door," Han said tartly.

Cara took off her belt and draped it over a plush green velvet chair. "Are you actually serious about the shoes?"

Han chuckled and turned around, trailing after the direction that the pair of women had disappeared in. 

When they came up to them, neither was speaking, which did not settle well on any of them. Instead, they were sitting opposite one another on a soft, inlaid couch. Eyes were peering as if in vibrant conversation, but again, no words or mouths moving. Disquiet settled over the awkward onlookers.

"Would anyone like a drink?" a bronze protocol droid creaked over, one that Din suspected might be older than himself. 

"I won't say no," Cara indulged, breaking the silence between the three.

"Throw a strong one on there for me too 3PO," Han relented, sliding narrowed eyes over to Din. "Anything for you Mandalorian?"

"No."

Sitting, waiting, trying not to observe the women in their rapt conversation because it felt oddly invasive, they sat behind the couch just waiting. 3PO delivered the drinks, humming to itself as it tottered around without a care in the world. 

"How'd you come upon a Jedi?" Han began conversationally. 

"A what?"

Silence again. 

"A Jedi," Han eventually repeated. "You know, the little one with white hair that's talking to my wife through some weird mind magic?"

"Is that... what she is?"

"Kriff," Han grumbled. "Maybe. That's usually what they are. But she hasn't got a lightsaber, so I don't know. I only assumed.

"So where'd you bump into her?"

"She was a bounty," Din revealed. 

"For the Empire," Han concluded. "We've been trying to flush them out, but there were more remnants than the New Republic cares to acknowledge. Enough remnants that given enough time they could regroup and become a real issue. What did the Empire want with someone who is Force-Sensitive?"

Din didn't like feeling as if he were being interrogated, but he was in this man's home, close to his pregnant wife, and still had his weapons despite Han's clear dislike of Mandalorians. "Experimentation. She told me that they would take blood everyday. Perhaps study whatever it is that makes her Force-Sensitive."

Han leaned back in his seat, contemplating what that could mean. Clearly, this man had a much better understanding about the Force when compared to Din, but he was still perturbed, as if he hadn't expected the Empire to resort to this method of warfare. 

"Where is he?" Leia's voice finally broke out into the open, the women adjusting slightly as the other heads turned to give them a look. 

Ciri stood up, trotting over to the pram, which Din opened with his vambrace. Her fingers glided beneath Grogu, lifting the curious little green child as he ogled the room with bright brown eyes. His ears shot up, alert and quivering, but not out of fear. Immediately, he glanced over Ciri's shoulder to peer at Leia. In that moment, Din imagined not Grogu in her arms, but a dark haired child of their own. Or would they have her hair? From the manner she always carried the child in, Din always knew she made a good mother. He'd observed her careful care for the baby on the ship day in and day out, so natural and unbothered, despite the fact that the womp rat was half the reason they hadn't been very intimate. 

"So that's what is underneath Mandalorian armor," Han snarked quietly, peering over at Din. "I always thought you were human-"

"He's not mine," Din groused. "Not in that way."

Back on the couch, Ciri let Grogu decide where he wanted to go. He pushed up to his feet and stumbled over the cushions to approach Leia, stretching his palms and placing them on her pregnant stomach. A soft coo came from out of his mouth as he pressed his face against her, sensing the life that was growing inside of her, trying to glean more with the Force. 

Smiling tenderly, the princess picked him up and propped him on top of her belly. "Well aren't you just the cutest thing?" she asked, tickling his ear. "But I'm afraid I've never met one like you. The only one who might know is my brother, but..." she licked her lips, pausing to consider the child. "...he has been difficult to contact since the end of the war. But... there are things we can work out. Why don't you and your companions linger for a few days? It'll take some time for me to create the proper holomaps for what you've requested. We have plenty of room for all of you."

"I wouldn't wish to impose. I'm certain that there are plenty of other places we can stay-" Ciri insisted politely.

"Nonsense. You're going to spend an arm and a leg on anywhere close to here unless you leave the highest tier. Additionally, anyone who might be hunting you won't be able to access you here. It's too well guarded," Leia sniffed stubbornly. "3PO, can you prepare a few of our rooms for our guests? It is getting rather late and I expect they're all eager to sleep in a bed."

"Thank you, your grace."

"Just Leia," she smirked, just as the protocol droid squeaked back into view. 

"Right. Well, of course," the droid turned around and started down the hallway. 

"Let 3PO know if you require anything. He may fuss a bit, but he'll do it," Leia informed them, setting her eyes on Dune last. "You're from Alderaan."

Dune gripped the cup in her hand tighter, managing only the briefest of nods in response.

"I'll take a look at that warrant," Leia told her. "I doubt it's nothing I can't handle. Unless you did a lot more than piss off a few New Republic officers."

"Thank you for your hospitality. For everything," Ciri insisted respectfully.

"There are few of us that exist in the galaxy as is," Leia told her, brushing some of Grogu's peach fuzz back. "We need to stick together, help one another, and grow stronger in the face of our enemies."

That sounded familiar. Almost like a Creed of their own, an alliance between Force wielders in the same way that Mandalorians would always help each other. While the two sitting there were seemingly harmless looking petite women, they spoke to each other like old friends, a bond humming between them that Din could only scratch the surface to comprehend. 

3PO returned, ready to escort them all to their rooms. Three rooms had been allowed and there seemed plenty more to spare. Everything was so refined, gilded, luxurious - that Din Djarin stood awkwardly in the doorframe, afraid that if he touched anything, he'd speak gun oil or dirt on it. But the bed looked divine; large, plush, covered in a fluffy down comforter that was interlaced with silver and bronze threading. A real bed. He'd been up in the cockpit for a while now, part of the ache in his back and shoulders due to sleeping in the chair. 

While he did feel out of place, he wasn't upset about the arrangements. Having lost the privacy of his own ship, getting this room was a nice change. He peeled his weapons off, finding an adjoining washroom, starting the shower which rolled off with thick tendrils of steam, quickly filling the room up with a white haze. Before settling in, he locked the doors and stripped down, his beskar neatly arranged on the brown flecked countertop in the washroom, pausing a moment to splash his face with refreshing water from the basin.

Brown eyes stared back in the mirror, scruffy facial hair on his face. He'd never cared to shave, it only made his face itchy when it grew back in. His hair was cut only when it got too long and even now, it stuck up in all directions from the helmet sticking to it. Rubbing his face, he thought of Ciri, her soft lips pressed to his, the sweet taste of her mouth, slightly salty from perspiration.

A low hum resonated in the back of his throat before he pinched his eyes, wondering if she was often plagued with thoughts like this as he was now. Dancing like starbursts behind his lids, her slender, small form, the curve of her waist in her dresses, the tilt of her mouth and luminous eyes as she gazed up at him with those thick, dark lashes. Then the manner, in which she'd try to control herself, moaning quietly as he'd pushed her against the table, roaming the plane of her smooth stomach. 

It had been longer than a while and with her on the ship, cohabiting the same space as him, it'd been nearly impossible to do anything or even get her out of his head for more than a couple of minutes unless he distracted himself. Dirty thoughts often badgered him, despite how benevolent and patient she was. After seeing the man she was supposed to marry, he was more convinced that she'd never been properly loved and he wanted to touch every inch of her skin, make her lose all sense of composure, and hear her scream his name. 

His palms were pressed on the counter, head bowed as he tried to catch his breath as he pictured these devious whims. The whims of a man who hadn't touched a woman in a long time and now had one right beside him. What if he was too much for her? What if he scared her? 

Dragging himself to the shower, he was glaringly aware of the hard outline of his manhood. Fisting himself, a shock of static played down his spine, letting the droplets of hissing water pelt him in the face as he chewed on his bottom lip. Envisioning her, all her ivory hair let loose in fluffy, tumbling waves, the dress pulled down over her pale shoulders and revealing hardened pink nipples as her cheeks were dashed with rose. He knew that her brows would strain slightly, expressive, as she made a futile attempt to cover the torrent of emotions threatening to wash over her. Mouth trembled, slightly parted as she breathed, lashes cast down so that the vibrancy of her irises was obscured. 

It was the blue dress, the one that required trousers beneath, but those charcoal pants were missing, allowing for the petaled front of the gown to slide up easily and reveal her smooth alabaster skin. 

Din moaned quietly, thumbing his head, unable to drive her from his mind as he leaned against the cool tiles of the shower wall. She was always there, taunting him, teasing him, loving him. Another stroke brought him closer, muscles quaking in anticipation as he wasn't keen to continue these fantasies when she was likely next door with the child. But kriff was it torture. 

Inside her, he imagined the silky warmth and tightness of her small frame. Dwarfed by him, perhaps even too small to take him, as she canted against his hips with a low, tinny whine. His tanned fingers so dark in contrast to her own skin, bronze vs platinum, a mountain with the snow that capped it.

He came. 

Din finished up the shower, cheeks stinging as he stepped out and gazed through the thicket of fog that had churned up from the long running shower. This wasn't the first time he'd done that - imagining having her while he masturbated. Perhaps it was the reason why he'd been able to control himself up until that point, but each day tested him further. Their relationship was not that of convenience and he was unwilling to do something that he'd later regret. For once, Din didn't feel empty and just because he had these depraved thoughts didn't mean he'd act on them in reality. He knew she wasn't weak, but he was also afraid of losing his head in the moment, finally being able to have what he so desperately yearned after.

The bed was soft, to which he stuffed the pillows over his head and nestled his helmet under the crook of his arm. He hadn't slept without it on in ages. Relinquishing a low sigh, he fell asleep dreaming of her.

* * *

"Mando," Han's voice assaulted him from the other side of the door in tandem with knocks so loud that they sounded like he was about to break the door down. Disliking the insistence, he threw his legs over the bed and shoved his helmet on, sliding it open quickly as he held a blaster in his hand. He never slept without a blaster nearby.

Han's eyes dropped to observe the Mandalorian without his full regal, in just his armorweave short and trousers, and then the blaster. 

"Kriff, I was just going to invite you to breakfast."

Din stood quietly, wondering why in the name of the galaxy Han would have pounded on his door like that. But as the man gave him a mischievous look, he understood that Han was taking whatever chances he could to get under his skin. 

"Have the droid bring it here," Din requested. 

"What? You don't take the helmet off?" Han asked, leaning irritatingly against the doorframe as he crossed his arms. "Not even for Blondie? I figured the two of you were together... well, you're not sharing a room, but I thought that maybe Leia was just being polite."

Din wouldn't consider Ciri's hair to be blonde, it was too pale. "Have the droid bring it here." 

"Yikes, fine," Han snipped, but instead of leaving him alone, the man continued. "Y'know, Leia told me about everything with you two. For a Mandalorian, you don't sound that bad... Taking in a woman and child even if it got you into trouble with the Guild. Dunno if I could have done the same in your boots."

"You were a bounty hunter?"

"Free trader," Han corrected lightly.

Ah, a smuggler. Now that Din raked his eyes over the man again, his mannerisms, it was starting to make more sense. How had a smuggler managed to land a princess? 

How did you manage to land an earth princess? A voice snarked in the back of his head.

Han was younger than him, perhaps about Ciri's age, though Din never had the honor of working around him. Then again, he'd not touched smugglers with a ten foot pole. They were shady, not to be trusted, and even more flippant than Malk's mercenaries. Funny how the galaxy worked. A smuggler turned New Republic, living in one of the nicest places in the galaxy. Part of Din wondered if maybe his future held the same cards.

"I guess I'll tell 3PO to bring your food out here," Han said eventually, realizing there wasn't much more conversation to be had before swaggering away.

The golden protocol droid arrived a couple of minutes later with a tray of food. "Ah, yes, hello Mandalorian, this is for you," it was rather polite, bending slightly at the waist to offer him the food. "My mistress wanted me to inform you that she, Ms. Dune, and Ms. Ciri would be going out into town to collect a few things at the local market. I am to see if there is anything you require."

Din had only grasped the edge of the tray when his jaw snapped shut. They had gone somewhere without him? Immediately, his first thought was of her being picked out amongst the crowd, being - "Ciri?" he repeated, confused for a moment. That was his name for her, the Mando'a word for snow, his word for her. Of course, in front of strangers it was to be her name, but Leia knew her earth name. 

"Yes," 3PO inclined. "The young Jedi woman with white hair. I believe she is your companion."

Perhaps he was reading into it too much and that Emma was being tactical, making certain that the only name for her being repeated was Ciri. But then... why was his heart fluttering, a hot breath hissing out of his vocoder as the droid stood in the doorway waiting for another word. "Thanks," he grumbled, dismissing it. That was the first time in his life he'd ever thanked a droid.

Cara Dune was with them, so he needn't be worried about Ciri. After all, she knew how to take care of herself now, but he preferred to be nearby to act as a deterrent. Or... he liked to be nearby because he liked her company and wasn't to be certain she was safe. 

Sitting down to eat his breakfast, he tried not to think of all the things that could go wrong while he wasn't there to supervise. However, Coruscant was an enormous place with a plethora of races and people. Amongst the high life of the upper Uscru District, Ciri would not be so stark or out of place compared to others. Din, on the other hand, would attract copious amounts of attention. 

Originally, he had not anticipated them being gone for as long as they were, growing restless as they day continued into the afternoon. Eventually, he got to his feet and left the confines of his room to find Han lounging in the den. He paused, not certain whether to be displeased that the man wasn't with them. Right. He was displeased. 

"Are they not back yet?" Din asked tartly.

"Should be soon," Han informed him nonchalantly. "They've got the shocktrooper with them and it's the upper tier. There's not much to worry about."

Din just stared at him, glowering from behind the dark visor of his helmet.

"Look, Mando, they're fine. I've got a comlink with my wife and she's been keeping me updated throughout the morning. They're leaving the Silk Compound now," Han held up the small radio as if to prove a point. "Let the women enjoy themselves. Maker knows both of your companions needed it, just like you probably needed a bit of peace and quiet to yourself."

He wasn't going to be satisfied until they were back in the penthouse with them. Finding a spot to sit as far as possible as he could from Han - but while still being in direct view of the door - he pulled out his blaster and began to fiddle with the slide, quickly and subconsciously running down a weapon check. 

Just as promised, the women and child returned within twenty minutes. Leia's face was a bit flushed, likely from walking around the city while heavily pregnant, but she didn't complain. Instead, she carried a bundle of bags, waddling over to a chair, and falling into it. A few stray pieces of chocolate brown hair plastered to her face, but otherwise she was unscathed. 

"Man, I didn't think there'd still be Alderaanian wine floating around," Cara said, her face bright and pleasant. 

"Just have to know the right place," Leia chirped. 

Grogu's pram listed beside Ciri, the gold flecks on the bodice of her teal dress glinting in the light. He stifled a sigh, having envisioned that same dress hitched up above her hips just last night. Gurgling in the pram, the kid had a treat of some sort in his claws, gnawing happily on it. Unable to see what it was, he just assumed it was some kind of meat, given the unidentifiable form it now was as he continued to chew.

"Boys, I hoped you had a relaxing morning," Leia entreated, glancing between both he and Han. "Tonight we still have those plans, Han. I couldn't put them aside."

Han groaned loudly, slouching into his seat. "Why? Can't you use your pregnancy as an excuse not to go? They're all so pompous and annoying."

"No matter how 'pompous and annoying' the delegates are, I am still required to maintain decorum. I will not let my pregnancy be an excuse unless I'm absolutely bed ridden," Leia retorted thinly. "Now, given that we have some intriguing guests in our house, I would hate to leave them twiddling their thumbs for the evening. I have already discussed bringing them to the event with Cara and Ciri."

"I hope you're not expecting the Mandalorian to put a suit on," Han warned, sparing a glance over at him.

"Actually," Leia countered, sliding her warm brown eyes over to Din, but as warm as they were he could see the intellect glinting within them. "I thought that the Mandalorian's presence might be beneficial. Baron Churhee has still been trying to allude to the lucrative spice business. Perhaps he thinks me more hysteric in my current state, but it would be nice to have someone there to deter his pandering."

Din wasn't a bodyguard. Just the thought of having to posture like a gargoyle behind the princess made his jaw set. There was no immediate danger, he would just be a fixture to be wielded as an intimidation tool. Then again, he wasn't in the position to tell them no. Han and Leia had opened the doors of their home and were footing the bill for whatever expenses were wracked up during their stay. A simple evening just shadowing the princess was easy enough, even if he had to suffer the assumptive looks from the blue bloods of Coruscant.

"Fine."

Han made a face, as if he didn't believe that Din would agree so easily. "You really do know how to get people to do what you want," the man snipped back to his wife.

Leia glared at him, but there was no depth to the look, just slight amusement. "I will vouch for Ciri and Cara. As far as anyone knows, we're related by blood from Alderaan and Cara is her guard. There aren't many left who can dispute that," she elaborated, though her eyes settled back on Din. He couldn't say why, but there was a mischievous curl to her lips - smiling like a sly fox. "Ciri, if you wouldn't mind... I may need a bit of help getting ready, as embarrassing as it is to admit."

"Of course," stepping forward, Ciri extended a hand to her to pull the princess gently to her feet. Before she disappeared around a corner, her violet eyes settled on him, a slight quirk on the corner of her small mouth making him feel warm. 

Grogu burped loudly the moment the pair had disappeared.

* * *

He was anxious. Not because this was going to be a difficult job, but because he was utterly, absolutely, and completely out of depth amongst the glistening crystalline and pristine chasm where the event was to be held. Reminded duly of winter, gemstones twinkled down from the ceiling and hung from lights like dripping icicles. The floor glistened, chipped with crystals that caught the dim blue light of the sconces and chandeliers. Cast over the shifting crowd of the prominent and wealthy, was a ghostly and mysterious glow that made the ball room appear like a ghostly, enchanted winter forest. 

The setting on his visor met details discernable to him where others might only be able to see 10 to 20 feet ahead of them. Being passed out on silver platters were various glowing drinks in champagne flutes. Han reached forward, swiping an amber liquid that reminded him of liquid sunlight. Cocking a brow at Din, he glanced back to the server who disappeared. 

"Want one?" he was taunting him, perhaps noticing that Din was as rigid as a statue as he gripped his hands tightly beside him. Amongst the pale glow of the event, Din Djarin's beskar smoldered with a spectral light, appearing ashen and ethereal, each flickering of the scones like phantoms swirling, trapped within his armor. "Try not to draw more attention to yourself."

Din wasn't even doing anything, but he knew what Han referred to. Eyes pressed out from the gloom, conversation too muddled and hushed for him to discern what might be said. Not that he needed to focus on it to glean that various aristocrats were drawn to his mysterious silhouette. 

"Finally," Han grumbled, eliciting a head turn from Din.

Shadowed by Dune, who was dressed in an impressive New Republic uniform, her hair pinned back from her face in a tight bun, were the two petite women. Amongst the ghostly hues of the event, Leia wore a resplendent orange dress that sat against her frame modestly. Her long brown hair had been placed in a headdress in a long crescent bun against the nape of her neck. A golden halo sat against her brow, bespeaking her position as royalty, but aside from that she wore no other jewelry.

Heart burning in his chest, Cin'ciri flitted beside her, gliding smoothly as she held the princess's arm. He'd not seen her in all black before, but the contrast the inky fabric had against her ivory hair and her eyes... her eyes burned brighter than anything else in the room, brilliant like a star about to burst.

The material was thin, the bodice fitted to her slender waist and plunging in a deep V to reveal all the way down toward the flat pocket between her supple breasts. From the thin, velvet straps, translucent obsidian shimmersilk winged down, trickles of gold lines and stars embroidered on the floating partitions. The skirt was unembellished, and fell in a simple A-line, but each step brought her right leg forward, tracing the slit in the gown which revealed her smooth, fair leg. 

Her long hair had been pulled away from her face, twirled in elegant curls that spiralled down her back after being pinned up behind her ears, which accentuated the delicate curve of her jaw. There was a minute amount of makeup, just enough that Din noticed because he'd studied the lines of her face so often. Her lips were tinted darker, more crimson than usual, and framing her dark lashes was a puff of smokiness against her lids. Unlike he was accustomed to, the dark attire and refined posture - had he not known her, he would have thought her amongst the aristocrats.

"Haven't seen that dress in a while," Han remarked, snapping Din out of his stupor. Slyly, the man looked over at him. "Good luck tonight."

* * *

**Author Break**

I don't have the exact picture of how I envisioned her dress, but this is what it was inspired from - [Link](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/a9/ed/a5/a9eda5c052ffe239b4f8ffc6a4ce6b33.jpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally gave into the tropes this chapter because I love to make Din squirm.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the moment you've all been waiting for so patiently! 
> 
> Warning: this chapter is filled with lots of smut
> 
> PS. y'all are insane with the amount of love, comments, and 1+k views. Thank you soooo much!

_"The only true wisdom is knowing that you know nothing."_

* * *

His armor always a knack for reflecting the mood of the room and now, she thought it rather looked regal amongst the quavering will-o-wisp lights. The day had already been long and sliding into an elegant dress - something she'd not done often on earth - felt strange. Of course, she wore dresses daily, but those were casual and easy to move in dresses, intended for travel. This was not. And Ciri could only begin to fathom how much the silken material actually cost. It had been in Leia's wardrobe, too small for the woman to fit in whilst she was pregnant, but quickly relinquished over to Ciri so that she could wear it for the event that evening.

Maybe she looked the part, but she did not feel it. Emma Mars had grown up a modest life, never quite needing anything, but never having dallied in luxuries or the finer life. There had never been a need and she had never yearned for it. To her, this entire place was a disgusting display of wealth. Wealth that could be used in places less fortunate. Of course, the aristocrats could still have a nice ballroom without freaking crystals dripping down from the ceilings. 

Each day, she felt less like Emma Mars, and more like Cin'ciri - the new life and person she became in this galaxy. Since sharing her history with Mando, a pressure had been lifted from her shoulders. Originally, she had been utterly embarrassed to have revealed such a weak side of herself, but his reaction... So tender and understanding... She'd not realized how warm he could be despite the frigid beskar against her skin. His comfort was not insincere or forced, but simple and true. 

Contemplating what he said, how Erik had been weak and unworthy, made her shiver. He had an easy way of putting things, but the manner in which his baritone voice translated through the vocoder of his helmet, breathy in her ear - it drove her mad. Mando could whisper sweet nothings in her ears and she'd be reduced to a puddle. No man had ever had that type of power over her and rather than frighten her, it made her excited and hot. 

But now, she felt exposed and out of place, sliding her eyes across the room as she held Leia's arm. The princess had been kind, courteous, and impish. Just as there had been with Grogu, they clicked. The Force hummed between them, betraying everything before Ciri had so much as a second to think. Not because she let her guard down, but because Leia was incredibly perceptive - even more perceptive than Ciri was. Warm fingers, pushing back her hair, gazing into her eyes - brown to violet - before comprehending all the strife and confusion that had led up until that point. She'd been utterly taken aback, but at the same time, she couldn't resist pooling all her knowledge into the woman's hands. Leia knew everything. 

She knew that Emma Mars was from earth, of the misery she endured in war, but also of the minor victories and pride she felt for her work. She knew how she was abducted, how there were few things remaining on that planet aside from forlorn hopes and dreams. She knew how Mando had saved her and Grogu from the Empire, turning his back on his life to protect them. And she knew of Ciri's growing relationship with the Mandalorian, the resolute, deep seated trust that was in her every fiber - aware that he'd never allow for anyone to set a single hair out of place on her head. 

She had never shared like that. Not to anyone. And Mando was just becoming the first person she had decided to open up to. Strangely, she did not mind. Ciri knew that Leia wouldn't betray her somehow. That she might tell Han about the important details, but not about the personal. 

Which was why when the woman slyly suggested that Ciri put on a much... more daring gown than the modest one she'd originally chosen, she knew it was because the princess wanted to test Mando. 

Gazing at him now, she wondered what he thought. Perhaps it was too much, too gilded and refined for someone like her. After all, she was a soldier, a healer, not the noble she was pretending to be while here at the event. Part of her wished she'd just been allowed to wear the dark blue draped dress, which was comfortable and conservative. Trying not to lick her lips, Ciri glanced away and amongst the crowd of blue bloods, wondering what the event was being hosted in honor of. Didn't really matter. She presumed they used just about any excuse to spend exorbitant amounts of money.

Even if this was some weird, parallel future-esc society compared back to earth, the formalities and traditions of this gathering reminded her of a ball. Much like those that were detailed in fantasy novels or even Victorian history with European nobility and royalty. Amongst the fine clothing, she saw uniforms belonging to high ranking New Republic officers.

"Want to take a look around?" Cara asked once they had deposited Leia safely by Mando. 

Of course she did. Even if she thought it all over the top and glitzy, she wanted to explore. Seems that the shocktrooper was of a similar mindset, glancing down at her and grinning wildly. "Yeah, let's take a walk."

Flanking the Rebel soldier, they paroused amongst the high top tables, looking at the various - mostly human - faces. There were a few aliens, but they were far in between. Cara naturally led them to the bar. After getting a taste of Alderaanian wine while they had been out on the town, Ciri suspected that the woman was keen to find out if this place also had some of the rare, priceless liquid. 

Standing on the tips of her toes, because the bar was quite high, Ciri glanced with intrigue between the glowing drinks. 

"Anything for the lady?" the bartender turned toward her, offering a careful and polite smile. 

"Uhm," she didn't know what any of it was. "The gold one?"

"Coming right up," he promised, turning around to blend a few bottles of liquor, the mingling of the two igniting a light, which blossomed into the golden drink she'd noticed around the room. 

"Look alive, Doc," Cara warned, nudging her slightly as she took her flute of golden alcohol.

Turning around, she noticed important looking delegates moving toward them. Whilst they could have just been heading for the bar, Cara's keen eyes had immediately sorted out the Republic officer who was amongst their group, but peeling off slightly to approach them.

"Do you know who he is?" Ciri asked quietly before he was close enough to hear her. Maybe he was an old friend, a war ally that Dune knew.

"Nope. Looks important though."

"We should get back to Leia," Ciri decided.

"That's not how things work here. Unless you want to seem rude... Decorum? As far as anyone knows, your noble blood and you have to posture," Cara pointed out quickly before pursing her lips just as the officer was within hearing distance.

"Ladies," the man greeted. He had auburn hair that glistened with stripes of blonde and copper. He had a strong jaw, straight nose, and twinkling hazel eyes - brown rimmed by green. He appeared to be a few years older than her, but no less impressive from the perfect posture he stood at, the soft click of his heels as he inclined, and the curve of a wide mouth. "I don't believe I've met either of you before. I'm quite certain I'd remember such a ravishing pair."

Ciri imagined Cara snorting, the sweet words nothing but wind to the soldier. While they were flattering, Ciri thought them too sweet like a mouthful of honey - and Ciri didn't like overly sweet things. "Thank you, sir," she greeted easily, slipping into the most diplomatic demeanor she could muster. "We are here as guests of my cousin, Princess Leia Organa Solo."

"Ah, Princess Leia?" he recognized. "I did not know she had such a beautiful, Alderaanian family. Correct me if I'm wrong, but most Alderaanians have dark hair."

"Lady Ciri is half Arkanian," Cara spoke up sternly. 

"Forgive me," the officer smiled. "That would explain your lovely complexion and hair. My name is Commander Dorn Halcyon. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ciri-" he gently took her hand in his, bending down to press his mouth to the back of her palm in a chaste kiss.

Ciri wanted to wipe her hand off, trying not to squirm at the fairytale greeting of an important military member and the way those hazel eyes turned up toward her to gaze into hers. A lot of girls dream about meeting a man like this, about being swept off their feet with courtesy and charm. Ciri preferred Mando's brooding. There was no knowing what the true intention of this man was, but it might be as simple as wanting to woo her into sleeping with him. 

"The pleasure is all mine, Commander Halcyon," she returned, not betraying her disdain for the situation she was now stuck in. Lifting the flute of liquor, she took a small sip, the slightly citric flavor sliding over her tongue and coating the back of her throat with numbing satisfaction. 

"Have you been to Coruscant before?" he inquired, continuing the small talk as Cara turned around to get another drink.

"No," but she didn't know where to say that she was from. Halcyon could be from Naboo, so saying she was from there might be a misstep. "I've been traveling amongst the planets for a while now. Just enjoying what liesure can afford since our home was destroyed."

"A traveler?" his mouth turned up as he leaned against the bar beside her. "Where have you been to? Amongst the Core, to the Inner or Mid rims?"

"Lady Ciri is a bit more daring than that," Cara spoke up, throwing her a bone. "She's been working outreach programs in the Outer Rim territories."

"The Outer Rim?" Halcyon was clearly impressed.

"Yes, there is still a lot of work to be done out there," Ciri played off casually. 

"A fair lady like you has been coasting amongst the Outer Rim? Well, I always knew the House Organa was an interesting family, but I never imagined that they'd take up such philanthropies so far from the protective shadow of the Republic."

"I'm not alone," Ciri informed him, taking another sip of her drink. Where was Mando when she wanted to intimidate someone away? He was beside Leia, doing his job, keeping away that baron or whatever. "I have allies that protect me on our excursions."

"Undoubtedly," his eyes flickered to Cara who was lounging moodily behind her. "Please don't think this forward of me, but perhaps you shall honor me with a dance? I'd like to hear more about your adventures Lady Ciri. You're probably the most interesting person here aside from your cousin, the princess."

Oh shit. Without Cara there, she'd have no idea what to say. The shocktrooper seemed to sense this, but wasn't in a position to dig her out of this hole. Decorum. She couldn't say no without a good reason and Ciri had no reason on the tip of her tongue. "Of course," she returned, extending her hand as heat collected in the back of her throat, nerves beginning to twinge as she tried to come up with a plan of action. This man seemed impressive, as if he'd be keen to talk about his time during the war.

Commander Halcyon drew her hand carefully, so tender that it sent disconcerted shivers down her arm. Leading her to the dance floor, his hand slid against the curve of her waist, his other palm interlacing fingers with hers. Ushered forward, close enough that their hips were brushing, Ciri averted her eyes as she tried hard to focus on the music and not dancing like a buffoon. The commander was a good lead, allowing for her to follow his movements and sink into a comfortable pace before she noticed that he was gazing down at her with hooded eyes.

"Lady Ciri, I do believe you are the most captivating woman here," he told her courteously.

She wanted to puke, but managed a smile instead. "Thank you, but that's certainly not true. Tell me, Commander, what it was you did? I believe I've heard your name before, but I'm not well learned in the war-" she opened the floor.

Commander Halcyon inclined, beginning to fill her ears with the prattle of his career. He was a commander for one of the New Republic fleets and had been during the war as a Rebel. Apparently, he came from a good, wealthy and highly regarded family which had helped make him well suited for his posting. However, in spite of his comfy birth, he had certainly carved his path as a pilot, preferring to fight amongst his men as a starfighter than sitting back on a mother ship dealing out orders. She was impressed with him over that, listening closely to his tale, barely noticing that he'd tugged her closed so that she was snug against him. 

Bleating through a few songs, her feet began aching. 

"Would you be opposed to another, my lady?" the commander inquired hopefully.

"I'm afraid I may need a moment to catch my breath and check in with my cousin, sir," she pardoned. "I really did enjoy our conversation, but if you'd excuse me-" Stepping out of his grasp, she began prowling back toward where she had left the Solos. God her feet hurt in these heels, the dancing having grated on the straps and digging into the sides. 

She saw his beskar first, filled with warmth as she approached. Leia's eyes slid toward her, mouth curving in a slick smile. "Enjoying yourself?" she inquired.

"If you mean having to pretend to like dancing to the point where my feet fall off, then oh yes, it's all rather ravishing," Ciri snipped back sarcastically before she could stop herself.

Han laughed loudly. "Wow, does that remind you of anyone?" his eyes slid over to his wife, who gave him a petulant tap with her knuckles.

She fell into the chair, bending down slightly to rub her ailing feet beneath the dark material of the dress. Hopefully, the commander would stay away and let her actually drink in the rest of the night in the form of those delicious golden flutes. Blinking a few times, she pushed out a sigh, wondering how anyone had the energy to do this all the time. 

"Do you want to leave?" Mando inclined down toward her, speaking quietly beside her ear.

"Mm," her head nodded back, almost wishing she could rest it on his shoulder and feel the frigid beskar against her clammy neck. "But Leia needs you here."

"I don't think the Baron is here," Han yawned. "If you're as sick of this place as I am, feel free to head back if you know the way-" he reached into his pocket and retrieved a keycard. "This'll get you into the house."

Ciri took it, glad to finally be out of this place, but gave an appreciative nod. "Thank you, I want to check on Grogu too," they had left him with the protocol droid, C-3pO. Pushing against the heels to stand up, she staggered slightly, her feet screaming in pain, causing her calf to buckle slightly. 

Mando caught her elbow, steadying her before she could fall. The kiss of his leather glove against her skin traced lines of static up to her fingertips. Drawing a breath, she found her feet again and found herself limping slightly, half contemplating taking the shoes off and walking barefoot. 

Just as they were about to leave, a familiar countenance swaggered into view, disappointment lining his features. "Oh, Lady Ciri, you're leaving so soon?" the commander asked, eyes flicking toward Mando. 

"Yes, I'm a bit exhausted. I'm going to retire for the evening," she informed him curtly.

"Perhaps I could escort you back-"

"That won't be needed," Mando answered tersely, his fingers tightening against her elbow.

"Is this one of your 'allies'? I didn't know that Mandalorians worked as escorts for nobility. Perhaps the Hutts. But I suppose if the job pays well enough-" the frigid tone of the commander's voice made her frown. 

"Why I have a Mandalorian in my attendance is none of your business. Good evening," she retorted thinly, taking another step forward to abandon the New Republic officer to his sulking. Lifting her chin and edging out of the room, she felt her knees ache against the tension, as her legs tried to make up for her feet. 

"Are you... alright?"

"These shoes are killing me, but it's nothing," she assured him. 

"Right," he pinged back sarcastically. "It'll take us a day to get back to the Solos' at this rate."

"Well, I'm sorry, but this is as fast as I can walk right now-" she wasn't in the mood for his grousing. "What are-" his hands slid underneath her, hauling her right off of her feet. Panicked slightly at losing her footing, she grabbed his neck reflectively. "Mando!"

"Loosen your grip," he huffed, his head being forced down into her chest. 

"Put me down."

"No."

No. So simple and yet the most infuriating word he used. Growling slightly, she loosened her grip to allow him to see. She didn't like this, not at all. In the confines of the Razor Crest, where no one else could see, it had been fine. But out in public she felt her cheeks burn with her chagrin. Sulking slightly, she would have walked her feet bloody back to the penthouse to not have to deal with people glancing toward them, a woman being whisked away in the arms of a Mandalorian. 

But it was faster. Mando's long strides brought him swiftly back to where the Solos' home was and she retrieved the keycard to unlock the door.

"You can put me down now," she informed him, wrinkling her nose in disdain.

"I will," he promised, but took her down the hall to where her own guest room was. Opening the door, he brought her to her bed, placing her gently on the edge. "Was that so difficult?"

Ciri blinked, miffed by his sass. Opening her mouth, no words came out, only a bitter huff. Despite the fact that he could seem so callous and stern, he found new ways to surprise her.

He knelt in front of her, making her jump slightly as he parted the slit of the dress to take a look at her feet. Cool air kissed her skin, eliciting a shiver. Pulling the heels off, he turned over the sole of her foot, observing where the material had bit into the chuck of her heel and ripped open old callouses. It wasn't bloody, but the skin had torn slightly. "Did you like dancing with that man this much?" he asked coolly, his voice metallic as it came out of the modulator in his helmet.

"What?" she hissed, her stomach sinking slightly at his insinuation. "No, I just couldn't find an excuse to get away. He was chatting my ear off." 

"You couldn't find an excuse to get away?" he deadpanned, lifting his visor to pin her with an obscured glare, her foot still in the palm of his glove. "Did you enjoy being all pushed up against him?"

Her heart lanced, wondering why he was inferring that she had enjoyed herself. Of course she hadn't. In fact she'd thought the commander to be rather boring until he'd told her a little about himself. Even yet, it didn't pale in comparison to the Mandalorian. "Mando, no, I didn't. I was pretending to be Leia's cousin, I had to act like a noble-"

" _Right_ ," he didn't believe her, pushing the skirt aside, revealing her bare legs beneath the silk. Smooth leather coasted her calf, drawing above her knee and toward the outside of her thigh which was still lightly obscured by the dark partition of fabric. Each movement made her quiver, goosebumps prickling where his touch traced, lines of fire burning in the wake of his gloves. "Wearing this dress. Pretending to be someone else. Letting another man put his hands on you-"

His fingers reached her hip, digging underneath the band of her underwear making her catch her breath. Why was he being so insistent that she'd done something wrong? It was a simple play the part. Both of them knew what happened out in public, that naturally she attracted attention. Back on earth it'd been easier to hide amongst a crowd with her natural blonde hair, but anytime she didn't wear a baseball cap and glasses, she would get hit on. Perhaps that's why she preferred her army friends, not treating her as just another pretty face.

"I-I-" she stammered, biting her lower lip, gulping greedily at the air. Her skin crawled pleasantly at his touch, but his words made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand in stiff formation. "What do you want?"

Dropping the fabric with a puff of air, his hand locked against her hip, dragging her down from the bed, before hiking the skirt up around her hips. Gasping, the underside of her thighs hit the tops of his beskar armor, kissing her skin cold as ice, making her writhe mild discomfort. But his hand clamped and refusing to let her move or adjust. Tilting her eyes up toward him, she sawher own face reflected against the inky visor.

"I want you to pay for what you did," his helmet swept down, brushing just beside her ear, low and dangerous, husky and deep. She swallowed hard, skin dancing with heat and static at his baritone.

A whimper parted her lips, unable to keep herself from twisting slightly, eyes pressing closed as she tried to comprehend what it was that she did. It was her fault that someone had taken interest in her? "Pay... for what?"

"Don't be coy now," he muttered, grinding his hips against her, the belt digging into her sex, eliciting a low moan from her as the cool touch of the metal bit her. "For letting another man touch you."

"Mando-" she whined, taken aback by how airy her voice was as she called his name. Her lashes felt heavy, cheeks burning as if branded by the beskar. "I swear it meant nothing."

He paused, tracing the lines where the straps of the dress were. One by one, he flicked them down, letting the support for the front of the bodice bow, fabric erring close to revealing her breasts. Blood pounding in her ears, she wondered if that's what she thought of him. If he thought that she purposely flirted with others to upset him. Pressing her tongue to the room of her mouth, it felt tacky, _needy_. "I know," he said after a terribly long moment, where she sat shivering with her dress nearly slipping down her. Abruptly he drove into her hips, the back of the bed soft against her spine, her heart snaring as her lashes danced across her cheek. 

Finally, she remembered she had hands, curving her palms against the thick fabric against his collar where his cloak met the armorweave. Underneath her palms she could feel his the strong curves of his chest, the muscles tensing as she tried to focus on something other than her own breathlessness. Her legs were shivering, still propped against the beskar, but the rest of her body was blistering like a sunburn. He pulled down the rest of the bodice, the mild hair prickling her skin, revealing her breasts as they heaved with laborously... And he'd barely done anything.

Tracing her nipple with the thumb of his glove, pin needles gouged her flesh before the areola stiffened and reacted to his touch. He pinched her, making her gasp, stifling her breath slightly as she made an attempt to not cry out. Biting her lower lip, her eyes hooded and cheeks continuing to grow ardent.

"Don't," he muttered, slightly vexed by the erring growl at the edge of his tone. "I want to hear you, sweet girl."

 _Sweet girl._ The very words made her tremble. She'd never been one to be loud during sex, always holding back, but his words made her weak, blood pounding in her ears as loud as thunder and a disconcerting heat between her legs growing to a sweltering pitch. Grinding her hips to his, she felt more than just his trousers and beskar now. On the inside of her thigh, his hardness lined through the fabric, his soft huff the only acknowledgement of what she'd done.

"Take it off."

She'd heard those words before, but not from him, they'd come from her own mouth on Sorgan. Opening her eyes, she watched him, wondering if she'd heard right. The brash, gritty demand translated through the mechanical vocoder.

"Take it off," he repeated, more forcefully as one hand gripped the back of her hair. Pain tugged at her scalp, unraveling some of the curls as she grit her teeth, drawing her tongue along them. 

Waves of lightning rolled along her back in pulses, she moved slightly, fumbling for the hook on the back of the dress, awkwardly positioned. Her legs were splayed on his lap, requiring her to lean up against the bed on her elbows to move upward enough shimmy it down. She should have felt more embarrassed, but the order he'd given her made her skin hotter, hypersensitive as she tried to gauge his reactions, the helmet giving nothing away. Again, it only reflected her own reactions, a mirror of a sort, frustrating her further as she trembled, mostly naked on his lap.

He hooked his finger into the edge of her underwear, her body on full display save for the small bit of fabric covering her womanhood. Pulling her back on top of him, he savored her squirming against his armor. Beskar was not intended for this purpose and he watched her agonized against. "I told you that you'd pay. Even if I believe you-"

"Mando," she was clammy, yearning, wanting nothing more than to rip his helmet off and kiss him, tuck her fingers into his soft brown curls, and taste his mouth again. But he was fully clothed, still clad in his armor, and here she was quaking like a bitch in heat. 

He pressed his fingers against her throbbing mound, sliding the gloves beneath the thin barrier and slicking them against her folds. Ciri whimpered, wanting him to sink into her, wanting him to do something more than just touch. There was a great number of dirty things she wanted him to do to her. He pulled his fingers back, the brown leather damp and wet. 

"All this for me, sweet girl?" he mused, his voice making her heart beat erratically as if she were a doe and he the hunter. Her eyes widened as he reached up, disengaging his helmet with a hydraulic hiss, enough that she could make out his tanned, strong jawline. He sucked on the gloves, lapping up her wetness, which absolutely astonished her - but for all the right reasons. Her legs trembled, rocking against him as she wanted more, aroused further by his erotic display. "Mm, you're sweeter than I imagined."

"Punish me," she dared, eyes flickering as she caught the reflection of burning violet in the silver of his helmet. 

"I already planned on it," he moved quickly, lifting her off the ground and throwing her onto the bed. With a soft yelp, she propped herself up, hips bouncing lightly, legs naturally pressing together as she watched him stand. His chest strained against the armor, impossibly tall as he cast a long shadow over her. His erection was outlined hard against his trousers and she realized suddenly how much larger he was than her. There had always been a size difference between the two of them, but it'd never been so apparent until he climbed onto the bed with her, gripping her by her calf and forcing her legs back open. 

Tearing her underwear off, her back arched slightly as she shuddered - completely revealed whilst he hadn't even done as much as remove a glove. 

* * *

* * *

She was prettier than he'd imagined, the missing pieces of her body finally filled in as he knelt over her, his knee driven between her legs to prevent her from closing them again. His Cin'ciri did not beg, but she had requested him to punish her, sending shivers down his spin. The depraved thoughts he'd had until this point, worried that his inclinations would be too much, washing away like dirt in the face of summer rain. Her braids in her hair had started to come loose when he'd tugged on the pins, fanning slightly around her in a pale halo as she shivered on the bed. 

Soft pink nipples curved on her supple breasts, hardened against the air, bobbing slightly as she fidgeted. His mouth was still filled with the sweet, tacky taste of her, punctuated by the eyes she'd made at him after he'd dared to do that. Wide, longing, excited.

He was going to take care of her, but only after he made her beg.

Drawing his hand, he traced along the insides of her thighs, her skin velvety soft, careful not to brush her wet sex as she quivered in his grasp like a rabbit pinned by an eagle. He felt the throbbing of his cock hard against his pants, but ignored it as he brushed the flat of her pelvis, applying a slight bit of pressure enough to part her lips in a soft moan. 

"Can.. can't you cover my eyes?" she complained, opening her vibrant irises long enough to give him the most raw and seductive look he'd seen yet. Her mouth was yielding, begging to be kissed raw, to meet his and draw the life out of him like a succubus.

"No, this is punishment, remember?"

Ciri whined in protest, hitching as his fingers curved over her mound and sank into her. He did want to taste her more, to burn kisses down her body, to mark that pale skin with small red bites. However, he was still tart with the image of another man holding her close. It had been to posture, but Din Djarin was not a permissive man. He was highly jealous, so green and jaded, and possessive. But only with her. Only with his Cin'ciri. Too many men wanted to have her just as he did now. 

"P-please," she stammered, looking at him imploringly again, almost begging, but not quite.

He drove his middle finger inside her, the leather of the glove separating them, but he could feel her tightness and warmth. So small and delicate, untouched for so long - just waiting. Waiting for him and only him. 

"Please, _what_ , sweet girl?" he purred, pulling his finger out and using her wetness to trace circles along her bud. 

She writhed slightly, each movement undoing her, her fingers reaching down to try and guide him back, but he seized her wrist, snaring the other one before she could make another futile attempt to try and speed him up. Pinning them above her head required little effort, her breasts arching out as she strained against him before he brought his glove back down to begin where he had left off. Gorgeous. Her slender frame, hand sized breasts, her narrow waist and hips just wide enough to give her a pear-shaped figure.

Her breath quickened, a low whine echoing on the back of her throat as she did it again - prevented herself from moaning. He growled, pushing harder against her clitoris, wondering why she did that. Who had told her not to do make noises? Not him, he wanted to hear every noise. "I told you not to do that," and then he lifted, watching her squirm anxiously without being touched, without being able to touch herself as her wrists twisted in is hand. 

"I won't. I won't do it again," she promised hastily, biting her lip so hard he thought she was going to draw blood.

He brought his fingers back down, oscillating quickly over her skin, her back arching slightly as the outsides of her thighs naturally pushed against his leg, desperately trying to close. A noise hitched in the back of her throat, but this time the cry escaped her lips, a high pitched mewl that brought a bright red haze to her face. She was embarrassed, but let the cry escape her lips, turning her head to the side as not to look at him. Din felt his heart hammer quicker, encouraged by the darling noises she was making just beneath the shadow of his body. 

"Like that, just like that," he encouraged, her gentle whines growing louder and more insistent. Each titillating protest flushing her more and he knew, that while she wasn't a virgin, no one had ever done this to her.

"Ah-" her eyes scrunched shut, snapping her jaw with a click, locking it as he felt the muscles in her legs tremble. "God, don't stop _please-_ " now she was begging, pushing into his hand. Cin'ciri was _begging._ He grinned wicked, obscured by the helmet as his eyes roved over her precious form.

"Din," he told her as he drew her closer to the edge, bending down slightly, cursing the helmet from blocking her smells as she convulsed.

"Ah?"

"My name, say it."

"Din," she chimed, neck curling and head tilting back as he brought her closer to the edge. " _Din, ah_ \- fuck! _Din_ , don't stop, please!"

But he did, sinking his fingers back between her folds, pumping into her heat. He strained another finger, pulsing against her as her cries became more fervent and pitchy. Her sex was astonishingly wet, tight, small and quivering as he stroked her, drinking in each tiny twitch and movement as she lashed against him.

"I want... I want you in me, Din," she told him, fluttering her lashes open enough to peer at him, flustered, completely undone, and _his_. 

"Not yet."

She let out a low, frustrated moan and closed her eyes again. 

He returned to her bud, slick with more of her wetness, building her right back up to where she had been. It wasn't difficult to set her over at this point, breathily climbing in pitch as he lavished her clitoris in swift circles. Her muscles tensed, more of a mess created between her legs as she screamed loudly, a shudder touching her from head to toe as she shook like a leaf. Removing his knee, her legs curled back together, oversensitive and raw. His glove was soaked, tracing the damp material over her torso as he let go of her wrists. 

Despite her quaking, she turned over, opening her eyes, violet stars pinning him before she gripped his glove. Her breasts bucked with her heavy breathing, drawing his hand up toward her face. Staring him right through the visor, into his very soul, she brought his index and middle finger in her mouth, licking the juices off, her mouth suctioning the material to his fingers. 

He stared as she released him, darting her small tongue along his fingers, refusing to break eye contact with him. 

He couldn't suppress the moan in the back of his throat. Already aroused, spurned further by the delicious, yet dirty thing she had just done to him. All doubts he'd originally had about being too depraved were wiped away as her hooded amethyst eyes implored him to take the rest.

* * *

* * *

She lavished the rest of the liquid off his fingers, remembering the slick feel of the leather gloves inside her as she kept her gaze pinned to his visor. What she'd done had the desired effect, a low groan echoing from the back of his throat. He didn't move, but she did, wondering how she'd startled such a man for a moment. She sat up, tracing a line along the buckle of his belt. "Can I?" she asked quietly, wondering if there was more punishment and he wouldn't give her the luxury. 

He nodded slowly, letting her undo the top of his trousers before slipping her hand beneath the fabric and against his manhood. Rock hard and too large for her fingers to encircle, she gripped him fast before sliding up and down to his hilt. Just like the rest of him, impressive and strong.

"Sweet girl," he murmured, bowing forward to push the brow of his helmet against her neck, chilling her where the metal kissed her skin. Her legs were still weak, her body sensitive and aching, but she wasn't going to leave him high and dry. She was his medic and had to take care of him. 

"Finish," she told him, wondering how he'd even managed to spend that entire time in his armor, playing with her without any reprieve. Her core was still hot, desperately wanting to take him rather than the gloves. The sensation had been different, erotic, and dirty, but she'd enjoyed it more than she cared to admit. He had her begging by the end of it, something that she never did. She did not beg and yet Din had reduced her to nothing. 

He jerked her over, putting her back onto his lap, holding her hips as she carefully guided him toward her lower lips. She was still soaking wet after her orgasm, mouth popping open as his head brushed her and she trembled at how large he was. Carefully, she nestled downward, lifting slightly a few times before she'd coated him completely. 

She hummed chest straining as she fit him, stretched and tight, but warm save for where her nipples pressed against his chestplate. He sat on the edge of the bed, guiding her gently when compared to how passionate he'd been just a few moments ago. But Ciri wasn't in the mood for tenderness. Careening into him, she began to move up and down his length, each strike down making her gasp with effort as his cock smashed into her cervix. He was quiet, save for the heavy breaths coming through his helmet.

" _Din_ ," she drew, his name warm on her tongue, teasing almost. "That's not fair." He'd chastised her for not making noise and yet the bounty hunter was holding back. She couldn't see his face, so why would he take the one luxury of hearing his deep moans?

His palm was against the small of her back, helmet tilted slightly so that she could see a sliver of tanned skin just beneath his chin. Seizing the opportunity, she snagged her finger against the neckline of his shirt and ripped it down, pressing her mouth hungrily against his exposed throat. He jumped, his groan escaping his mouth before he could stop himself. 

"You-" he started, punctuating what he was going to say with another satisfying growl. "Will be the death of me."

Repositioning slightly he began rocking into her, distracting her entirely from what she had been doing as each pump smacked hard into her pelvis making her cry out; pain, white, hot, good. Clinging to the collar of his shirt for dear life, her legs were so weak she might've slipped off of him had he not been gripping her so tightly that, undoubtedly there'd be marks in the morning, as he bounced her on his lap. Heat blossomed on her face, her head lolling slightly as she felt a new sensation overwhelming her. Again he was balancing her on the edge of a blade. She wasn't a stranger to orgasms, but they had been few and far in between, mostly done by her own hands in privacy. Now twice in one go?

"Wha- Are you going to come again, sweet girl?" he purred into her ear as she whined in acknowledgement, his voice quaking slightly, the err in the tone making her clammy. "I'm about to... _where_?"

"In me," she didn't want him to leave, didn't want him to pull out. She was so close and thought that if he did, it'd just ruin the rest of the orgasm. The thought of the repercussions didn't skim her mind.

Din moaned, pushing into her harder, light sparking behind her eyelids as he drove her over the edge yet again. Going limp against the beskar, sex twitching, she fell against the frigid steel as tried to find her breath while he shuddered a low groan followed by a hitch of his chest indicating that he'd finished. 

They remained connected, Ciri slick to his armor, her skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he fell back against the bed. Eventually, she had to stir, her skin burning painfully against the armor. She rolled off, dismayed to see that her breasts and tummy were a bright, painful red. His head turned, observing what she saw, reaching a hand out to brush just beneath her breasts, right against her ribs. 

"Beskar is cold," she told him with a small smile.

"Perhaps no armor next time," he suggested.

Next time. "Mm," she agreed, falling down against the soft blankets on the bed, drawing a deep breath to try and steady her heart. In the few moments she'd closed her eyes, the bed shifted and Din moved. "Din?" she called, looking toward him as he finished buckling his belt. "What's your last name?"

"Djarin," he answered. 

"Din Djarin," she repeated, her lips curving up again. "Why now?"

He trailed closed, drawing a blanket up around her to hide her nudity. A few fingers brushed her hair tenderly from her face as he contemplated an answer. "Because it felt right," he told her gently. "But my name is for no one else. Only you."

She nodded. "You're not going to sleep in here tonight, are you?"

"No, Cin'ciri. Not tonight."

Pouting, she pushed herself up slightly, enough that the blanket fell down to reveal her breasts. "Why not?"

"Because the others will be returning soon and I won't be able to control myself," he answered evenly, coasting down to brush her exposed nipples. He hissed a sigh. "I can barely do that as it is."

"Fine," she grumbled, drawing the blanket back up. "But I don't think that we'll be here much longer. Leia should have what we need ready for tomorrow."

"And what is it that she's giving us? You never did tell me."

"A holomap to a special location."

"A special location to what?"

"The place where I can build my lightsaber."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I puzzled over this for a while, deciding if I was going to do this or rewrite completely these next few chapters. To me, character development is really important and I absolutely love Mandalorian culture. 
> 
> This chapter is brief, hurtful, and full of angst. One person who knows what they want and the other who is confused, acting out in their fear rather than trying to understand. 
> 
> I’m a sadist, so take your punishment you gluttons. You didn't think you were going to get them together without any hiccups? They've been coasting too smoothly for a while...

_"When the snow fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives."_

* * *

"What do you see?"

A crystalline cave, humming with a blue aura, multicolored crystals and gems jutting up from stones. The mythical atmosphere around her chilled her skin, the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck standing in a strict formation as she stared at the mysterious beauty of the crystals. Kyber crystals.

"Is this where I am to make my lightsaber?" she asked her master, meeting him in this new dreamscape, erring closer to becoming Jedi.

"Will you?" his words sent chills raking unpleasantly down her spine, glancing away from the beauty of the cave, she stared toward the hood of the Jedi Master. "You have many mortal bonds."

Mortal bonds? She recalled his conversations about devotion, about being a weapon of justice, of sacrificing everything for the cause - for Jedi. However, she did not wish to kill unless necessary. Even in this new galaxy, she had only taken the life of that alien back on Arvala-7 and it had felt dark. The light side had not assisted her in that kill, it had been the overwhelming fear of the darkness breathing down her neck as she feared for the child's life. Since that day, she had preferred not to dirty her hands again. Was he asking her to reconsider? As a healer, she had hoped her hands need not take any more lives.

"Master, what do you mean? I have devoted myself to trying to understand what it is to be Jedi. I thought that our training was going well."

"Physically, yes, our training has been going exceptionally," he answered smoothly. "However, mentally..."

This astonished her. She had believed that her mental state had improved since talking to Din about her past. In fact, she had thought her connection to the Force was even stronger. Hearing these words from her master were disheartening and struck her like a well aimed arrow. 

"Your mortal bonds bind you," he continued. "Bonds that Jedi must forsake."

Love. 

Comprehension washed over her in a terrible, heavy wave. "Is there no other way?" she asked gently, wondering if he'd demand that she forsake what she had just found. Even the Force did not beckon so strongly that she was willing to give up the first bit of happiness she'd had in a long time. Nor did she believe she was capable of breaking Din Djarin's heart like that. 

"Not as a Jedi," he told her. "You must make a choice. Look into the crystal and tell me what you see."

Turning around, the largest crystal was nearly as tall and wide as she. Stepping up, her heart throbbed in her throat and she let out a low shaky breath before gazing within its tantalizing depth. Staring back was a beskar helmet, but it was not Din's. Instead, the way the visor was shaped, a bronze sheen to the panel, the more dramatic Y-shape indicative of a female rather than a male. Blue silver, icy, frigid, and scaled like a dragon with a set of ridges lining the ridge like a short crown. Reaching up, the Mandalorian removed their helmet and stared back at her.

Cobalt, gunmetal blue eyes gazed back and the woman shook out ash blonde hair. Her breath hitched, a hand reaching, comprehension dawning at her as she stared at herself before coming to this galaxy. That was _her_ blonde hair and her blue eyes - features that had been lost when the wig and contacts had somehow melded to her form when coming to this new, foreign place.

"Master?"

"You must choose what path you will walk. But if you choose this one, then understand that there are repercussions. Once you choose this path, you will no longer be Jedi."

What did that mean? Would she lose her abilities and be weak? The training instilled in her vanishing like a puff of smoke? Brows furrowing, the Mandalorian version of her turned around and marched away into a verdant field, enticing her to follow. What did she want? 

"Emma Mars can be Jedi. But Cin'ciri cannot."

Those words set her shoulders rigid, the implication of his words making her jaw lock sternly. Forsake attachment and forge a lightsaber. "What will happen? Will that be me? Will I lose my powers?" Honestly, the powers were not that important to her, not in comparison to the niche she had fallen into. But they'd always been a part of her. How would her body handle the severance?

"The Force will always be a part of you. I cannot take that away from you. But the path you tread will be in between and I can longer be your mentor if that is the way you choose," he explained.

Letting out a breath she had been holding, she stared out into the tall, grassy field. All this training for the better part of a year, expecting to eventually become Jedi. Now, she saw herself in a new shell, in _beskar_. "Who will teach me now?"

"Go. Go and you shall see. But know, the moment that you make this decision, there is no undoing it," he warned, but there was no begging or sorrow in his voice. He knew this was her decision to make.

But was it a difficult decision? No, it was not. "Thank you. For everything, master. I know which path I must walk," she did not look back, did not look to see the man lowering the hood as she reached into the mirror surface of the crystal. "This is the way." Like Alice down the rabbit hole, she stepped through the cave and tumbled into the field, a blue sky spanning above her. The version of her in beskar had vanished, leaving her amongst the fronds, which tickled her calves.

"Ciri."

Craning her neck, she saw him, his face revealed seated within the visor of his beskar helm. It was not her Mandalorian, in fact, it was not a Mandalorian from this time. Her legs churned beneath her, bringing her before the impressive figure of an ancient Mandalorian warrior, deep emerald eyes listing over her - regarding her. 

"I have waited a long time to meet you," he told her, a deep rasping resonance thrumming out of his chest. He wore a full ensemble of beskar in tandem with a silver tunic, a dark blue cloak fluttering over his shoulders. 

"Who are you?" she asked, awed by the line of his shoulders, the very Jedi-like manner that he stood in and yet his aura was different. His aura was like hers, not like her prior master.

" _Gar al'verde_ ," (Your commander) she recognized the language, perhaps because she knew he was Mandalorian, but did not know what he said. "Come with me. We have much to discuss."

His hands were clasped behind his back, trailing forward only after she came up to flank him. Before her, the most beautiful planet she'd seen yet in this galaxy. A forest spanned down below, shadowed by a ridge of mountains that were capped in snow. Raw, untouched, and sublime. Avian raptors glided on the breeze, swooping down over the moors to hunt.

"You have chosen this path," he said slowly, pausing to drink in the resplendent glory of the land. "It has been a long time since a Mandalorian has treaded the line between Jedi."

"I'm not Mandalorian," Ciri retorted, not rudely, but slightly confused. "Din is Mandalorian. Perhaps a mistake has been made?"

The man laughed, his voice rolling like thunder over the landscape. "There is no mistake," he assured her. "I have been watching you. Mace Windu's own intrigue snared you first, as he saw the tribulations of your past, but-" he glanced down at her through his open visor. Tribulations? Did Windu think that because of her raw past that she'd want to exact some kind of revenge? "-you were found by a Mandalorian. You were named by a Mandalorian. You come from a family of soldiers. You are a foundling in your own right."

Ciri did not comprehend how that made her Mandalorian, but did not interrupt. Din had explained a little of his culture to her, that they took in orphans, and they were all warriors. 

"Mandalorians have long adopted those innocent souls across the galaxy with the will to be warriors. No matter what past they came from. Typically children, but sometimes adults."

"But Din did not do this for me. He did not take me in as a foundling," she pointed out politely.

"No, that was not his intention," the man agreed. "But in naming you, he made you more Mandalorian than Jedi. You accepted this name as your own, shed your prior life to start anew. What Windu wished for you... Is not your destiny. We both know this. You want a family, just as I did. Such mortal bonds are scorned amongst Jedi, but not here."

"Then... you were a Jedi?"

"I was. I trained amongst their Order, but they could not give me what I wanted. I returned to my home, to my clan, and to my people. I raised a family, I loved and was loved. I fought for what I believed in," he looked back amongst the landscape. "Though... it no longer looks like this."

The illusion shimmered away and Ciri felt the air burst from her lungs, arid and sulfuric atmosphere searing her lungs, causing her to claw at her throat. All the green was gone, replaced with rock, stone, dirt. Grey landscape, no life, no way to support it.

He reached down and placed a hand on her shoulder, the breath returning to her lungs. "This is Mandalore now," he was sad, she could feel the emotion rolling off of him. "A land torn to pieces by war and greed."

"It was so beautiful," Ciri replied, finally able to take a few good gulps of air. 

"Yes. It was," he smiled softly. "It could be again."

"How?"

"You have unique abilities, though Windu trained you in his own ways. These hands-" he took her palms, turning over the small calloused palms. "-were always intended for healing, not for rage or destruction. The Force did not wish for you to be a weapon of justice, but _cin vhetin_ \- a white field. You were a canvas, ready to be painted on, teetering only on what decision you might make. Your will has always been free, but in your heart of hearts, it would lead you down this trail everytime. I foresaw it. I need only wait."

She stared at her hands, the idea of them healing, of doing the thing she felt most comfortable with settling a warmth about her. The man was different from Master Windu, he was perceptive and wise, without the fury of her prior master. "Then... what must I do? My original path was set to go craft my lightsaber, to become Jedi."

"There is a blade that befits your hands better, but I doubt that you would prefer to use it. I can glean your nature, how you would only take a life if required."

"Aren't Mandalorians warriors?" she smarted, unable to think that there might be a pacifistic Mandalorian. 

"Not all of them. There are those who wish to live in peace, without following the Way or a Creed. Then there are those who wish for only war. But the majority wish for cohesion and for their planet to stop weeping," he told her. "But know, those that threaten you and your own, should never be spared mercy. You know this and I trust that you would do the right thing if the need arises.

"There are many things you must learn. But it begins with the _Resol'nare_ \- the Six Actions. Wearing armor, speaking the language, defending oneself and family, raising your children as Mandalorian, contributing to the clan's welfare, and answering to the Mand'alor's call."

"That's quite a lot... Al'verde?"

"You are quick," he mused with a well tempered smile. "Let us begin with the first - the location of your helmet and the Creed your partner follows. The Mando'a will take time, but the other tenants... You already do. Come."

The landscape flashed again as he released her hands and rather than the decimated landscape, Mandalore returned to its prior glory. Inhaling the scent of grass and morning dew, she trotted after him, dreaming slightly of Din Djarin.

* * *

* * *

He knocked on the door again, brows creasing slightly as she didn't answer. Cin'ciri was typically alert, but after their evening, he wondered if he had been a little too much. Since leaving the room, he'd been unable to get her out of his mind, wishing he hadn't turned down her offer to stay alongside her. However, no sooner did he slip out of her room did the others return and he found Grogu throwing food at C-3PO. 

There was shuffling behind the door, finally abating his nerves for a moment, before it slid open and a dazed Cin'ciri gazed up at him. But... No, she was not his. Panic lodged in his throat, his fingers twisting his blaster up as the woman blinked, gripping her arm fast. "Who are you?" he demanded, tightening fingers against her bicep. 

"It's me?" it was Ciri's voice. Her face tilted up and he hesitated, the lines of her face the same, the small nose and gentle jawline, the dark lashes, and the high cheekbones. But her hair was an ashen, as if her white hair had been tainted, steel blue eyes gazing up at him in place of violet, faded in place of those vibrant irises he knew, reminding him of the color of his beskar. " _Cin vhetin._ "

A blank slate. A new life. 

"Where did you learn those words?" he had never said them to her, unsettled deeply by the abrupt change in her. 

" _Al'verde_."

Yet another word he'd never spoken. Suspecting the magic had done this, he struggled to lower his hackles as his eyes roamed over her face over and over again. The same, but different. "How?"

Brows pushing together expressively, he knew it was her, a slight hurt reflected in her cool eyes. "I had a decision to make," she sighed, tugging out of his grasp to turn back into the room. "After last night..." sitting on the edge of the bed, her fingers roamed fondly through the darkened locks. "I had to make a choice. Which path I would walk. Jedi... or with you." Her eyes lifted, snaring him with the same almond shaped familiarity, but the tone was so brittle and stark. "Jedi forsake attachments. I couldn't. So the brush stroke painted me the way I chose to be."

"Do... you not have magic anymore?" 

"The Force will never leave me, but I... I dreamed of Mandalore and how it used to be. I have a new master, a new commander - one who made the same decision as me. He is Mandalorian," she explained gently.

But he was disquieted, staring at a new woman, and a twinge of betrayal in the back of his mind. She had done it for him, but the finickiness of the Force made him wary. What if this happened often? What if she changed colors like a chameleon? Would she become a new person when it suited her? Now, speaking some Mando'a, speaking of Mandalore as it was, he could not hold his tongue. "What now? You believe because you simply wish it, that you can become Mandalorian?"

"I know it is not that simple," she scowled. "I have much to learn-"

"That is _not_ the way."

"You gave me a Mandalorian name," she rose from her seat, drawing closer to him. "I thought that you'd want this."

"It was a nickname, not intended to be taken literally," he spat, affronted by her proclamation. Her behavior was almost sacrilegious to him, assuming she could become Mandalorian because she wanted to.

Her eyes widened as if he'd slapped her. "I've... made a mistake," she said quietly, taking a step back. "I cannot go back. I-" her voice hitched in her throat, raising her eyes that burned like ghosts into him. He was familiar with the glare, having seen it toward the beginning of their acquaintance. "All of this over my hair? I didn't think you were as shallow to like me only for my appearances. I've never once asked to see beneath that helmet and because the color of my hair and eyes change you spurn me?" Her voice was growing hot and angry, stirring the same frustration in him.

"It's not normal for a person's hair and eyes to change color overnight," his voice rose as well. "And you can't become Mandalorian simply because you wish it."

"I am not ripping the helmet off of the corpse of a Mandalorian to claim it as my own!" she snarled. "I was going to take the Creed, follow the Resol'nare, and earn my armor. He told me that I could walk this path, that in my own way I was a foundling in my own right. I don't have anything!"

_I don't have anything._

Those words were delivered as a blow to his gut, making him wince beneath his helmet. A cold laugh resounded through his modulator, lowering his gaze to openly glower at her through his visor. "I'm nothing?"

"That's not what I meant, Din."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I want to belong. This galaxy - the Jedi - are gone and even if they were not, I do not belong amongst them. I am allowed a blank slate and you should know better than anyone else that I have a right to walk this path."

She did have a right, but he wished she had discussed it with him before making such a large change to herself. He was not shallow, he did not care if her hair were white or ashen, but he was frightened by the power of the Force. How she could learn things without being told. "Then be a blank slate. Go start fresh. Go earn your armor. Carve your own way through this galaxy. Do. What. **_You_ **. Want." He gritted the last words out between his teeth, almost growling them.

"But I-" she caught herself, raising her shoulders up and smacking him with a defiant look. "-I have nothing to apologize for." Standing there quietly, she considered him, before more terrible words came out of her mouth, "You shall not be taking the child."

A hot wave swept through him, fury lining his shoulders at her suggestion to break up their family - their clan. No, he had suggested it first, she just wasn't backing down from his threat. 

"I was brought to this galaxy for a reason. I know it now, even if you won't stand beside me," she spun sharply, turning toward her bag, which she began stuffing her belongings into. "I will take Grogu with me."

"You will not," his hand slid to his blaster, hand shaking slightly at the idea of shooting her, his stomach twisting as if a vibro-blade had been planted there. He couldn't lose the both of them. Maker, what was he going to do? 

"You think you can be his father?" she slung the bag and leveled a look so full of malice that his blood ran cold. She was never this cruel, never this terrible. Who was this? Where was her sweet, benevolent smile? "I was his mother months before he knew you."

"Where you are going, you cannot take him."

But she faltered, as if understanding the road she had to take. "And where will you go?" she countered, narrowing her eyes. 

He had no plan. The idea of losing her never crossed his mind. Even now it was surreal, as if he were having a nightmare and he'd wake up at any moment and find her still with ivory hair and violet eyes. "Back to the Outer Rim."

Her face contorted, considering what he'd said, before her shoulders sagged in miserable defeat. "Protect him, please. The path I need to walk is not suited for him. Not where I must go now. I-" she lifted her eyes, slightly watery as she gazed at him, but she did not finish her sentence. Instead, she drew herself up, trying to be as dignified as possible. Her telltale stubbornness and pride pushing her past him and out the door. Pausing, she tilted her head back, as if about to say something. 

She left. 

Din could only hear the pounding of his heart in his ears as he tried to rationalize what had just happened. A lilting, melancholy song coming back to his ears as he stood there, recalling the fairy tale. 

_"Wasting in my lonely tower_

_Waiting by an open door_

_I'll fool myself, she'll walk right in_

_And as the long, long nights begin_

_I'll think of all that might have been_

_Waiting here for evermore."_

* * *

* * *

"I still don't understand," Han Solo said slowly as he was flipping switches in the cockpit of his ship. "I mean, I thought the two of you were a thing. You mean, he just let you go?"

Ciri leaned back on her haunches, staring closely, trying to commit to memory what Han was doing as she hovered, brooding. That had never been her style, to brood. However, her heart was heavy in her chest, as if it had been iced over. She had thought Din Djarin was a caring man and had been wrong. The moment she had suggested joining him, joining the Mandalorian culture, to unite herself in all ways with him, he'd been offended as if the honor could not be bestowed upon her. It had hurt, considering that she'd stepped away from the path of the Jedi in order to be with him, to forge a new destiny, and grow closer in a way she hadn't thought possible. But no. She could not be Mandalorian. 

"It's complicated," she grumbled moodily.

"Ha! Darling, complicated is my middle name," he grinned, the engines humming before he lifted the ship out of the hangar. "I mean, not quite change my hair and eye color overnight complicated, but let's be honest, I've seen crazier things." He was trying to make her feel better. She could sense that intention on him, which was pleasantly welcome. Not everyone thought she'd gone off the deep end. Even Cara had given her a bewildered look and edged away. Already wary of Ciri's magic, this had put her over the edge. Watching the two people who were closest to her in the galaxy estrange her like that, over nothing but a simple physical change, ailed her. 

But leaving Grogu had been the most difficult. He was a shining star, a light of the Force, a beacon. Her own light had been tainted by the transgressions and because she had turned her back on the straight path of the light. Tarre told her she needed to walk between in order to get what she wanted, to be at true peace, and yet she had lost it all in committing to him. Now, it was too late to regret that, too late to take it back. Master Windu warned her there was no going back. Her own ideas of Din had clouded her judgement, thinking the man infallible. That's how she'd always seen him, stubborn to a fault and a little short-tempered, but compassionate, honorable, and considerate. 

Now her fingers tightened around the blaster at her hip, aware that there'd never be a lightsaber there. She could taste the scorn on the back of her throat, the shame in asking Leia and Han to spot her to Krownest. Even if Din would not condone it, she would become Mandalorian. She had to at this point. If there was the possibility that she could heal Mandalore and find the next Mand'alor, she had to do it. Din was unaware that this was her boon, but given his reaction, she hadn't bothered to explain further.

"How long until we get to Krownest? I don't want to keep you from Leia for an extended period of time," she inquired, glancing at the navigation as he drew up the details.

"It's in the Outer Rim, but fortunately the Mandalore Sector is a straight shot down the way from Coruscant. Won't take us more than a few days to get there," he informed her stoutly. "You sure about this? No offense, but I'm not quite a fan of the plan."

The plan included being dropped off on Krownest, an icy planet that was home to Clan Wren. She had no intentions of meeting up with these Mandalorians currently; it was the planet she was more interested in. According to Vizsla, her trials would start there, amongst the snow and mountains. There, she would have to prove herself worthy of becoming a Mandalorian before taking her Creed beneath the Ka'ra (stars; ruling council of fallen kings). What the trial entailed or where the Ka'ra was, Ciri had no idea, but she had chosen this path and there was no turning her back on it now. 

"Just teach me about starships. I'll find a way off the planet, Force willing," she said wearily, wishing to see the silver beskar glint of Din in the pilot's seat and a smaller cockpit, but reminded herself not to dwell on it. Instead, she retired to the bunks, pressing her face into her hands as she tried to wonder how it had gone like this. From earth, to the Empire, into the Mandalorian's care, and now on her own. Just standing beside Tarre, she could imagine herself in similar shoes, raising small Mandalorians of her own beside Din Djarin. But it had been blown away like dust in the wind, reminding her that their relationship had just been starting and she'd gone and rushed into him. Prematurely, without talking about it, and making far too many assumptions. 

She just thought that this was what he wanted. That eventually, he'd teach her Mando'a and more about the culture, but this method was a fast-track that would bring them closer. Now, she was going to a frozen planet to battle her way through the trials. Without Grogu, she felt empty. Her bond with the child severed at such a far length. She hadn't thought that it would bother her like this, but each night was cold. Everyday without his light shining. Without either of their comfort. She had made a terrible mistake and there was no taking it back.

Ciri had wanted to have her place in the galaxy and here it was: solitude.

Han was clearly worried about her headspace, pestering her when he could, but she slipped into meditation to try and gather the maelstrom of thoughts. There were no doubts, just regret.

It was when he landed the Tempest on Krownest that a realization dawned on her. Beauty and the Beast had been truer than she thought, only she was the Beast. This new journey felt more akin to exile than anything else, parting ways from Solo, thanking him for all he had done, and trudging into the swirling abyss of snow and ice. She could hear his thoughts, his worry that this would be the last time he ever saw the earthling. He was right. If he ever did see her again, she would be the Mandalorian.

Emma Mars had marched away. Marched away and Cin'ciri would return in her place. But not to the Milky Way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s short, but I wanted to punctuate her decision to go find herself. Din can be a pillar of strength and he got her to this point, but Ciri needs to be able to know herself, to truly know herself, to ever be strong enough to stand on her own two feet. Mace Windu never was the right master for her, between Vaapad and the lack of learning how to heal. 
> 
> A strong female lead can't be strong if she has to rely on someone else to know who she is. 
> 
> Din is afraid. The Force frightens him and naturally he lashes out. He assumes that Ciri is not taking his Creed seriously, that she has some fantastical image of Mandalorians, and it rubs him raw that she’d try to suddenly be a part of a culture she knows little about.
> 
> There will be a long break between when they see each other and we all know distance and pining make the heart grow fonder.
> 
> The next couple of chapters will be about Ciri’s soul-searching and finding her real purpose for being brought to the galaxy.
> 
> Sorry if you dislike her appearance change, but the canvas to be painted was also an intended part of her development. Because she became how she wanted to be before getting there - as Daenerys Targaryen - a woman she thought strong, a she didn’t see strength in herself. That appearance we never truly hers. And now she had reclaimed her natural hair and eye color - not because she’s becoming Emma Mars again, but the reason why shall be revealed later.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We about to jump real hard into Mandalorian culture. Pardon me for badly translated Mando’a. I am really trying to be as careful as I can with the language to make it authentic. Additionally, this will be a slight canonical divergence as well - the time elapsed between episodes will be much greater than in the show. I wanted to really drag out her training and finding in the Mandalorian culture. I’ve already been dragging it out sort of, but our lil Snowbunny can’t learn everything overnight, no matter how big her connection to the Force is. I’m sorry if this is boring, but I really love writing out character angst and their thoughts.

_“There is a lot that can happen between now and never.”_

* * *

* * *

The Force hummed around her, chasing away the worst of the nipping cold, pecking at the sliver of exposed face as she continued up toward the mountains that Han hadn't been able to deliver her too. The drafts were too strong, threatening to dash the Tempest against the rocky cliffs. But she knew where to go, guided by the knowledge shared to her from Tarre. Each footfall was hard, her own mind waging a war with itself, as she panted against her face scarves. Her demons, her battle, she had to face it alone. There would be no complete severance of her old life until she had done this. Perhaps, even if Din had agreed with her, he would not have been able to make his journey with her. There was always the future, if he would accept her again.

The flats turned to jagged hills, gnashing up like monster teeth, trees absolutely laden in snow to the point where she couldn't discern what was a tree and what was a rock. Two days passed, huddling in snow banks, using the Force to keep herself from freezing to death. Pulling forward, her thoughts plagued her less and a deep seated weariness wore into her bones, making her feel old and tired. But the mountains came, tilting over her as dark sentinels - a guardian. Her heart twinged, thinking of Din and how he'd always overshadowed her, a sentinel in his own right. She hoped he and Grogu were doing well.

" _Olar_." (Here) A voice echoed, thrumming in her ears like thunder or ocean waves crashing into tall cliffs. But in front of her she only saw impassible rock, her gloves roaming the face, lending the Force in an attempt to find what she was being guided toward. A whine echoed on the back of her throat, feeling hopeless as she searched the mountainside for hours. With night nearly upon her, she dug a pit in the snow, glancing down at her ration bars which she was beginning to run low on. 

Casting an inky cloak, she stared up at the stars as they broke through the storm and she huddled in her fur cloak. Twinkling, reminding her vaguely of when she'd watch them weep in the cockpit of the Razor Crest in hyperspace, the way the light would catch his beskar and illuminate him. Shivering, she thought wryly of how she'd trade this place for Tatooine.

" _Haa'taylir._ " (See)

Lifting her head out of her tiny igloo, she glanced back at the mountain side she had been exploring in the daytime snow blitz. The light of the stars brightening the icy slate, icicles dripping over the most jagged pieces. Then she saw it, the lines in the stone, too deliberate to be some anomaly. 

"Ka'ra," she breathed, standing up and stumbling out of her pit. Her gloves pressed against the stone, following the lines as they met one another, churning into circles beneath the stars until they synced at an epicenter. Pushing against the center, nothing happened, her memory going to when the Fellowship had been stuck outside the Mines of Moria. Was there a password? What kind of word would Mandalorians guard this with? Her knowledge was still glowing. " _Burc'ya._ " (Friend) She tried, albeit hopelessly, driving the Force into the tendrils, pulling the fibers as if they were thread, trying to unravel the path.

The mountain moaned like a whale, protesting in a yawn to reveal a dark mouth. Swallowing hard, she drew out her torchlight and started inward. Within the cave was as cold as outside, but lacked the whipping wind. Stairs. Slick with ice, she descended into the chasm carefully, the echoes of a very distant past thrumming around her like a primordial heartbeat. 

Deeper,

_deeper,_

**_deeper_ **

until she felt as if she might've reached the center of Krownest's core before hitting flat ground.

Shining the weak light, she cast it over the corners, her heart fluttering at a familiar glint. No, not completely. Piled over altars, delicate and lost to time and touch, were pieces of beskar armor - _beskar'gam_ . Their fashion was not that of which she knew, which she had touched. No, these reminded her of the pieces that Tarre wore, lacking the additional mechanics of the Mandalorians of present day. None of these would fit her and none of these were hers. They belonged to Mandalorians of old, their songs fleeting in her ears, like a breathy whisper, as the _beskar'gam_ had been long forgotten.

Continuing, she saw plinths and pillars, settled against the stone as the mountain shifted throughout the years. Some were cracked, chipped, and strained. This was a temple. Which was strange, as Mandalorians had been very nomadic people, especially in Tarre's age. Her light flickered as she approached the largest chamber, catching slightly on a frosted bench. Brows furrowing, she approached the spot, her heart increasing in pace the closer she drew. Pressing her palm against it, her pulse screamed, and she understood what this was: a forge.

A spectral visage flickered across the forge from her, causing Ciri to fumble her light and drop it. Bending over hastily, she turned back to see that the silhouette that had startled her was the spirit of Tarre Vizsla - her commander. Hands folded behind him, he gazed through his visor, below at the forge claimed by ice.

"This very forge crafted my _beskar'gam_ ," he told her. "It is one of few left in the entire galaxy."

His voice hummed ominously through the cave, echoing, but also not. 

"Does it work?" Ciri asked, palm still flat against it, almost sensing the heat it used to bellow.

" _Elek_." (Yes)

"How?" She had not been led to this forge to ogle it. Comprehension slipped over her like the warmth of a hearth, remembering what Vizsla had told her. She could mend Mandalore with her hands, but not how. She stood in front of that very _how_.

"Our people are prohibited from wearing their armor. Many of those that have it are beyond repair or do not have a forge in which theirs can be crafted," Tarre explained carefully, setting his eyes on hers. "This skill has also been forgotten. To have both a forge and a smith..." his voice tapered off to deliver the point.

"The echoes," she muttered. "The spirits are here and not Manda." Manda was their Valhalla, the heaven that Mandalorians ascended to with their brothers and sisters and family. 

"No, they are in Manda," Tarre corrected lightly. "But this is a special place. When the full starlight shines on Ka'ra, the veil between our realms becomes thin enough that those who have marched away may join us. Only here. And only those who are sensitive enough to hear them. I had this temple created, deep within me knowing that it might be the salvation of Mandalore."

"Then..." she looked around, wondering where these spirits were. "A smith will teach me."

" _Elek_ ," he paused, staring over her shoulder. "Draz."

From the shadows around them, a spectre unlike Tarre, less solid, and not as luminescent came forward. In full regal, the helmet tilted in acknowledgement. There was no distinction of color, only the play of shadows as the only variance in the silhouette. 

" _Vi Kelir nartimir_ ," (Let us begin) Draz spoke in Mando'a. Only in Mando'a, which distressed Ciri immediately - turning her eyes imploringly over to Tarre for assistance.

" _Gar Kelir hibirar iviin'yc_ ," Tarre told her, in which she could garner that he was telling her she would learn quickly. That last snippet of Galactic Basic was spoken from her mouth and her mouth only. 

Thus began the training in Ka'ra. By night she learned the forge, the words for the tools, for fire, for methods and tempering. By sunrise she slept and by afternoon she studied with Tarre. Having been a Jedi, he was well versed in the way of the Force, supplementing what else she would need to learn. Here, she learned that her hands could heal. Master Windu had always been so fixated on being a sword of justice, that he had glazed over the very occupation that Ciri had dedicated her life to. At first, she was slightly vexed , frustrated that the words coming out of the mouths of the spirits she encountered were Mando'a. Still struggling to understand their quick jabs and references, but there was no sympathy. Ciri had chosen this path and she had to walk it.

Comprehension was slow, the broken link between languages requiring her to learn at a much more grueling pace that she would have preferred. Master Windu had challenged her, pushed her, and here... Here, they treated her like a baby. Talking slowly so she could piece together the Mando'a, pointing at things as if she were stupid, and hissing in annoyance when she did not do as they asked. The first few months in Ka'ra were miserable. 

Come morning, she'd be tired and aggravated, wishing that she could snuggle up to Grogu or... Din. She assumed the worst, as she always had a knack of doing. He'd probably found someone better than him to take care of the child. Someone prettier, less stubborn, less complicated, and easier to get along with. Were they safe? The Empire never came sniffing for her, which led her to believe that when she had chosen the Mandalorian path - her hair and eyes going back to their natural hue - she had set the fobs off kilter. Or maybe Din had gone back to Nevarro and settled their debt somehow. He didn't come for her, which spoke volumes upon itself. If he really, truly cared, wouldn't he have at least checked up on her?

 _How would he know where you are, you idiot? Han knows you are on Krownest, but that's it. You're in some secret star cave talking to ghosts,_ she reminded herself often, trying not to be further demoralized by her decision. She knew this was all bigger than her, a destiny that she could not avoid, and because it would help so many others she could not throw the towel in because she missed a man that probably didn't miss her. So she cried about it sometimes, sniffling herself to sleep, wondering if the ghosts saw her and thought she was a baby. Whatever. She was free to have her own feelings and not be as cold as the hunk of ice that was now her home.

But there was no gain without pain, blood, sweat, and tears. Ailing over the blisteringly hot forge, it was easy to forget that Krownest was a frigid planet. The first beskar she had taken had sung beautifully, telling her the tales of the warrior who had worn it. Their spirit appeared to her, telling of the mythosaur they had slain, of their clan, of their family. Even as she melted it down, the forgotten warrior who no one remembered any longer, she could not just tuck away that memory without proper homage. Her hair had to be braided back from her face to keep it away from the fire. So with each piece she melted, she created a bead with a marking for each name of the spirit that had told her their song and she added them, piece by piece, to her growing bundle of braids.

There, she could hear their songs when she focused, always beside her and never forgotten. Even if there was no living person, she was not alone. Her grasp on Mando'a growing stronger with each struggle, with each reprimand, and each strike of her hammer. Beskar made the prettiest music, lulling her into a rich satisfaction and rhythm. Peace. But rippling beneath that surface, she still yearned, calmed only by being hunched over the forge until the day came where she was allowed to melt bars to craft her helmet. 

Draz was not as ancient a spirit as Tarre and knew how to craft helmets of a modern time. His own was similar to Din's, without the deep curvature around the cheekbones. Whilst Tarre revealed his face, she had known her Creed for a while now, the Creed that her Mandalorian had followed. Amongst a sect of 'extremists', she couldn't help but find deep solace in being faceless, to becoming just Haar'Goran (The Blacksmith) and take her fate between her hands. Reminded of lofty dreams of becoming a Jedi at one time, she wondered if she would have ever felt at home with the blade of light between her fingers. No, the beskar was melodic and cool, tempering her, shaping her.

Her true skill was here, talking to spirits, hearing their voices in their armor, and learning their stories. Her skill was in repairing people and armor. At least, the armor did not die on her. Still, there was this labor of love, learning the trade and being good at it. 

Songs and stories had always been a pivotal part of her life. Ciri was a musical person, memorizing so many songs. The beskar had songs of their own and she was learning to comprehend their voices. Before each sleep cycle, she would pray with the new words and tongue she had. 

"Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, vod Jones, vod Gosling, bal vod Reynolds." (I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal brother Jones, sister Gosling, and brother Reynolds). Each time she repeated the prayer before sleep, despite the galaxies between her and their spirits, she felt more sane. Speaking the names out loud, acknowledging that they had fallen, calling to the void and remembering. 

The helmet took a lot of effort. Folding metal, combining it with tempered glass and fiber, inlaying controls and wires. There was more to the helmet than a bucket, the intricate settings and details within the confines of the mask absolutely astonishing when she had to learn how to map the controls herself. Pinching wires, burning her fingertips, messing up the settings - things not working as they were supposed to. Trial and error, with Draz governing her work, but not supplying the answers. She had to figure this out herself and if it was incomplete, then her own abilities would suffer. 

Infrared readers, voice reader, vocoder, analytical overfaces, a flip down target identifier, and noise suppressor. While working on these settings, she wondered if Din's helmet did all these things, if he'd been able to glean her emotions through the voice analyzer, to be able to tell when she was flirting or being earnest. The helmet also had a pressure stabilizer, to prevent loud explosions from rendering the wearer, an adjustable visor which could react to astonishing changes in light - be those flash bangs, explosions, or the sudden lack of light. The modulator also needed to filter toxins, prevent smells like smoke from choking the wearer. She put a nightvision reader in her helmet after considerable fiddling. 

"Haar Creed gar ganar gaanla... Rejorhaa'ir me tug'yc tion'jor gar gaanader ibic olar." (The Creed you have chosen... Tell me again why you choose this Way.) Tarre stood over her work, gazing intently at the finished product, the burnished blue-platinum glow of the helmet as frigid as the slate that encased the temple. 

"Ibis'haar olar," (This is the way) she insisted, staring into the visor on the forge in front of her as she knelt before it. Until this point, she was not fully Mandalorian. She spoke the tongue, she understood their history, the ballads of many warriors passed, but with this helmet she would finally be complete. Her purpose would begin. Her training was not complete, but the feeling to belong would finally reach its crescendo. 

"Verd ori'shya beskar'gam. Partaylir ibic ad," (A warrior is more than his armor. Remember this daughter) Tarre warned her, but placed a spectral hand on top of her work. 

Standing slowly, her hands outstretched to place her palm on top of Tarre's hand that wasn't really there. "Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it. Ni mav don ibic beskar'gam par ner adate. Par ner vencuyot ade. Par ner aliit." (Truth, Honor, Vision. I will don this armor for my people. For my future children. For my clan.) Anticipation made her fingers shake as she lifted the helmet, drawing it toward her face, gazing intently into the visor before turning it and sliding it over her head. 

Hissing, the hydraulics engaged and the visor illuminated. Pressure stabilizing, she blinked a few times, breathing deeply in and out to test the modulator's feed. Kneeling back down in front of the forge, she pressed her palms against her thighs and sat her vigil for the rest of the evening. Tumbling into her meditation, her mind was clear and humming with the Force as she accepted its will for her. 

An explosion made her eyes snap open, peering through the inky haze of smoke peeling. This was not the temple. This was Nevarro. Just outside the cantina, there were scores of stormtroopers assembling, the black glare of death troopers prowling forward. Why was she seeing this? She did not care what happened to the Guild. But her heart stopped at the sight of a man in silver beskar'gram laying disoriented on the ground, knocked back from the explosion. 

No.

_No!_

She followed him, the strong hands of the shocktrooper snaring underneath his arms and dragging him to safety back within the common house. Ciri could sense his pain, the weakness of head trauma, the blood pooling underneath his head as he grunted slightly. Even the helmet had not been able to protect him from the shock of the fall. Was this happening now? Why had he gone back? 

"Let me look-" Cara reached down to try and disengage the helmet.

"No," he told her hoarsely, his broken voice snapping something in Ciri. Reaching up, he pulled out the silver necklace she'd noticed around his throat when he wasn't wearing armor, but she'd never seen its details. It was a mythosaur. "Give this to... him. Find her if you can. Bring him back to her."

"I can't let you die here!" Cara roared, her eyes watery as she clutched his hand. "Go find her yourself. I'm not making promises for you. You're going to walk out of here."

"I'm not," he found the strength to chuckle, punctuated by a cough that frothed blood to his lips beneath the helmet. 

"Can you heal him?" Cara turned to the droid, the IG droid that had attempted to murder the child, who just dropped the grate leading into the sewers. 

But the conversation faded away as Ciri stood there, worlds away, as Din Djarin lay dying. If she had been there, had she not left his side, would he be hurt? Pushing as much as the Force would allow, willing to touch him, willing to comfort him and heal him - bitter tears welled in her eyes. Her phantom hand went right through his, " _Cyare. Cyare, ni olar._ " (Beloved. Beloved I am here) She was his medic and she had abandoned him. 

His helmet turned slightly, almost as if he saw her, but she knew it was not true. Perhaps if he were Force sensitive, he might be able to glean her visage. Weeping silently, a hand gripped her shoulder, tugging her away from the vision of her lover dying on the cold ground. When she woke, Tarre Vizsla was crouched in front of her, pressing his fingers into her shoulders. 

"Ni enteyor bah slanar bah kaysh," (I need to go to him) she told him, trying to push up to stand.

"Nayc, du'caryc," (No, it is finished) he eased. "Gar ganar nayc be ti vencuyot haa'it." (You were not gifted with future vision.)

A sob tore through her chest, leaned through his spectral touch, as she wondered if he was alive or dead. From what she saw, he had been dying and refusing help. He had a head injury and he would not remove his helmet. Absolutely raw with misery, she wept in front of the forge, her commander gazing down on her as she imagined Din Djarin marching far away and never returning, stepping into Manda. 

"Meh kaysh kyraycthen kaysh mav mar'eyir gar olar," (If he is dead, he will find you here) Tarre reasoned with her logically. That frightened her even more, turning a corner and seeing the faded light of his figure haunting her. 

"Ni vercopaanir-" (I pray/hope-) she quivered.

"Gar enteyor oya'karir," (You must hunt) Tarre declared, rousing her from her agony, pulling her up to her feet. "Bic ca'nara." (It is time)

The last thing she wanted to do was leave her wallowing, but she felt her legs quiver, knees locking mechanically into place. This was a test. Not the vision, it had been true, but the hunt to follow it. Swallowing a sniffle, she glanced toward where her equipment was propped. She needed to be able to see through this loss, to be able to keep a level head and fight - hunt. Hunts were important amongst Mandalorian culture.

She had no weapons other than a blaster, a spear made from veshok, - a local evergreen tree that was similar to oak - and a vibro-blade. There had been other items to be salvaged, but no weapons of beskar or firearms. Until this point, she had been using the blaster rounds sparingly to hunt under the moonlight for small game when her snares did not capture the rabbit-like rodent that scavenged beneath trees. But the hunt that Tarre suggested was not for rabbits. 

There were more dangerous creatures that lurked around the mountains. She had noticed their prints in the fresh coat of snow, four pronged pads and thick claws about the size of both her hands put together. Feline, it appeared, but she couldn't be certain. Throwing her cloak around her shoulders, she saddled up with her vibro-blade, trip wires, spear, food, and kindling. 

Leaving the confines of her cloister, she flitted up the many stairs, and into the winter embrace of Krownest. Eyes trailing the stars, she knew that if she would be outside until she was successful and only able to return beneath the gaze of the stars. If she failed this evening, then she would have to continue. Tarre would be displeased if she returned with empty hands and blamed it on her sorrow. Let it be a weapon, not a distraction. She just hoped that when she did return to the mountains, that Din's ghost would not be waiting for her.

Stealing through the forest like a forgotten soul, she set off in search of the prints of the large feline. Her progress was stalled when the snow started to pelt down again and she was forced to take shelter and wait. Nothing would hunt in this weather, not even the feline. The storm continued into the morning, the sun peering out shyly from behind the clouds about dawn. Resuming where she had left off, she skirted the forests, looking for signs of life. 

There were clear cues, disturbed brush, footprints, the chirping of birds amongst the frozen branches. But all the life and scat that she found did not belong to her prey. 

Three days she circled her domain before she found its kill. The blood painted the pure white snow in a macabre mosaic, the first bloom of color dashing the pallid landscape. The corpse of the animal was not there, but the blood was still warm and crimson. Drawing back her gloves, she looked around, thinking of how felines would take their kills back on earth. Jaguars would drag them into trees to consume the catch. Lions would eat right where they killed. 

Following the droplets of blood, the guttering path that leads toward the mouth of a cave framed by veshock branches. Her fingers tightened on her spear, reminded of the mudhorn that had been in the cave on Arvala-7; reminded of him. Heart aching with each step she took, she planted firmly, turning the nightvision on her helmet before carefully rolling her steps to remain quiet. 

The snow turned to stone, damp with melted water and... no, not melted water - blood. Bones scattered amongst the cave, a hoard belonging to the beast. She could hear snapping, followed by a deep rumbling as a creature sucked the gnawed on sinew and flesh. In the back of the cave, a hulking white creature bowed over the antlered cervidae that it had killed. 

Whilst it was a feline, it was unlike any cat that she had ever seen. Wide paws, intended to act as snowshoes and not to sink into the down snow, a long bottle brush tail curling around paws. It was barrel chested and tapered at the hips. Spines ran along the feline's back like quills, ear holes hidden beneath the thick white fur. Stained with red, the muzzle was flat and piggish, spanning in a terrible wide, cheshire mouth with two rows of gnashing fangs. 

It had not observed her and she had only one hope in this cave to deliver a mortal blow before trying to grapple with it. Imbuing the Force in her body, she shoved off to jett forward, screaming as she turned the spear on the cat. Snarling, it rounded as swift as a raging river, raising claws. The premonitions muttered in her ears, her legs tucking and rolling as the feline pounced. She raked the edge of her spear along its flank as it landed, scratching superficially against the monster's rib cage. Liquid began welling against it, but not enough to be fatal or slow it down.

Turning the spear in her gloved palms, she leveled off with the predator again, watching it spit and hiss, considering her carefully. Perhaps it thought her small, puny, and weak. Another meal and set of bones to add to its collection.

But she was thinking much the same, distracted entirely from the agony of wondering what may have happened to both the Mandalorian and child. Those thoughts were fleeting, only the Force to guide her as she stepped leg over leg, firm plants, circling with the beast as it bunched its haunches and prepared for another leap within the confines of the cave. 

Darting to the side, the feline raked into stone, nails on a chalkboard. Save for her helmet, Ciri might've winced at the noise, but managed to grind her teeth as she pirouetted and drove the spade of the spear. Gouging the feline's flank, tracing a curve deeper into its ribs, the spear head lodging. Twisting the spear, she drove her weight into the back, pushing with the Force. The feline was still too swift, rounding and whipping her - attached to the spear - against the wall with a snap. 

Trying to catch her breath, she saw the snap was the spear shaft, breaking toward the head into the cat's ribs. Liquid rubies pulsing out of the wound, she grimaced, perhaps if it came out it would exhaust the animal until the point of blood loss. But there was no time to feel sorry, to wish something else had happened. Backed into a corner and wounded the creature pounced again, forcing the remaining pole in her hands in front of her as it threw her into the wall. 

Wind driven from her lungs, the mouth gnawed on the wood, stiletto dagger teeth erring dangerously close to her face. Raking up talons, she screamed the talons rending through her leather and into her flesh. The Force exploded, blowing the animal away from her and into the opposite wall as Ciri grabbed her wound, hands coming back tacky and slick. Unable to process what was really happening, the deepness of the wound, she tried to mend it as she leaned against the remainder of her weapon, gasping for breath as the monster opposite of her also drew shuddering whines.

But it pushed back to its feet, limping toward her, her own fingers sliding into her cloak to draw out the vibro-blade. If she weren't using the Force to staunch her blood flow, she would have ripped the spear head out of the wound and let the creature bleed out. However, her own injuries were too great to ignore, pushing away the shock and nausea as she stumbled back to her own feet. If destiny willed it, she would die here, perhaps joining Din in the afterlife. But what if he wasn't dead? What if she died in this frozen cave and he never found out what happened to her?

A guttural, feral noise resounded in the back of her throat, both opponents going for their last stand. Bracing the vibro-blade in her hand she glowered, trying to keep the weakness from quavering in her biceps. But the cat leapt first, throwing her down to the ground, her wounds singing as her helmet thudded heavily against the ground. Heavy, hot, and sticky - it sagged down on her, ripping off her helmet with its maw and dragging fangs across her face. But the hot breath that blew her sweat and blood was the last to escape from the animal's mouth. 

Sagging on top of her, the warmth of liquid pooling around her hands where the vibro-blade had struck home when the creature had pounced. Her body ached, but the hypersensitivity of the Force hummed in her ears, everything glaringly clear despite the fact that she could not see properly without the helmet's night vision. Minutes, maybe even an hour passed before she had the strength to worm out from underneath the animal and grab her helmet. Running down from her face were the cuts where the teeth had met her tender skin. They were deep, but superficial. 

Assessing the wound against her abdomen, the bleeding had been staunched, but her limbs and muscles refused to work. Ciri pulled her cloak closer, sliding down against the wall of the cave as her brain began to move lethargically. Weak. Her body was too weak after this encounter. There would be no moving, no leaving to bring back her hunt. She had to rest, whether or not she liked it. A soft, trembling breath parted her lips beneath the helmet and darkness consumed her

* * *

Ciri woke hours later, her wounds still searing with pain, but when she looked down at them, she noticed that they had become little more than deep scratches. Crusted to her face was the blood from her face injury. Groaning, she glanced at the collapsed body of the feline that she had slain. A rush of emotion boiled over her, a mixture of pride and of sorrow. Even if the animal had tried to kill her, she had cornered it while it was eating. But this was the way. To hunt and become the predator. There would be trials, she knew this. With the kill, she knew how many other animals would live to see another day, but it still pained her that it had come to this. Before pushing herself to her feet, she left a light prayer, thanking the animal for the battle and its life. No life, no matter how big or small, should be taken for granted. She was not an executor.

There was much to salvage, getting busy with her work to strip the pelt. While gruesome work, she had to bring proof back that she had been successful in her first hunt aside from the obvious traumas she had endured. Taking the creature's hide, several of the fangs, and some claws were evidence of this. Eventually, other scavengers would smell the corpse and return the body to the earth in other forms. Bundling her macabre haul in the pelt, she limped out of the cave, staring out into the glaring day, her exposed wounds on her abdomen hissing at the frigid wind. 

Her trek back to Ka'ra took her the majority of the day, glad for the starlight which would allow her passage into her new home. Pressing her palm to the epicenter, she applied the Force to open the secret door. Down into the depths of the temple, she saw several spirits waiting for her - many of those the warriors that she had taken the stories from and made her soul beads from. Had they been able to watch her fight through the tiny pieces of beskar forged from their armor? 

Her eyes listed amongst them, praying... praying so desperately not to see Din in their ranks. But her feet carried her further, back toward the Forge where Tarre and Draz were waiting. With a heavy thump, she dropped the bundle and took a knee. Not out of respect, but because her body hurt badly still. 

"Kandosii," (Well done) Tarre congratulated as the bundle opened and revealed the other prizes that she had brought back. "Gar ganar parjir gar sol'yc maan kyr'haastal." (You have earned your first battle scars).

"Ni jorso'ran ratiin," (I shall bear them forever) there was no sadness in her voice, but comprehension that these scars would be revered and not admonished. Mandalorians did not see wounds as something to be ashamed of, in fact, they understood her mental ones - as many of them had felt the same trauma losing their allies in the field. No, when she spoke of these scars, she knew that they would be a notch in her belt, proof that she had undergone the trials that it took to become Mandalorian. Brushing her shoulder, she touched where her scar from her bullet wound was, not thinking of the shame of Reynolds' death, but of her bravery in the face of that terrible, gut wrenching day.

"Vaabir gar haa'taylir kaysh?" (Do you see him?) Tarre prompted her to look around, gaze at the spectres who were admiring her first hunt, muttering amongst themselves.

"Nayc al'verde," (No commander) relief was blatant in her tone, even coming through the vocoder. 

"Kaysh nu kyr'adyc," (he is not gone) Tarre braced her with a thin smile, as he too was glad that the Mandalorian that she had left behind was not amongst the ranks in Manda. "Slanar chur bal udesiir. Gar ganar parjir bic." (Go below and relax. You have earned it)

Nodding slowly, her legs creaked as if they needed oil when she stood, her lacerations trembling with the strain on her abs. 'Below' was the quarters area and she expected he meant to rest and sleep away the weakness she still endured after utilizing so much of the Force to keep herself from dying in that frosty tomb. However, as she stepped beneath, she felt the humidity around her fluctuate, her helmet garnering readings, making her pause. 

An archway had opened near her cot and few meager belongings, wafting out of it were peels of steam. Weary legs dragged her down to the steps, entering a chasm she'd not been given the luxury of visiting during all her months until this point. Bioluminescent light flooded the vision in her visor, making her switch out from the night-mode and to normal. She caught her breath in the back of her throat, glowing pools of turquoise misting up. Dangling from the ceilings were glow-worms hanging from stalactites and catching a warm heat on the natural springs below. 

Ciri did not need to be told twice. In all her time there, she'd had to heat water in a basin to wash herself. Slightly vexed that Tarre had not revealed this sooner so she didn't smell like ass, she knew he couldn't smell the organic stink on her. Peeling off her ruined attire, she set her helmet down last, slowly edging into the pool. A soft moan parted her lips, her braids dipping below the surface as her body hummed in the resplendent of the hot waters. Left alone to her healing, to her thoughts, she was glad that Din had not been amongst the spirits. 

Still, that did not mean she wasn't worried. But what was she going to do? She had no comlink, no contact, no ship - or the knowledge on how to fly it, and seemingly no sentient contact. For now, she would have to continue with her exile and learn. Trying not to fixate, her mind swapped and a strange feeling glided over her, a tendril of thought snapping out into the abyss. Grogu. Was he safe? It had been easy to contemplate Din's wellbeing as she saw him resign to his death on the floor, but the baby...

Her heart clenched, thinking of how she'd been with him for over a year and then left so abruptly. Selfish. The word hung over her like a guillotine, reminding her that she had abandoned him despite the impeccably strong Forcebond that they possessed. Whilst he was a baby, she knew that her departure had to have had a negative effect on him. She only prayed that it wasn't so bad that he was lashing out with his abilities. 

_Maker forgive me, but as of late I haven't done a whole lot of good have I?_

Her scars remained. Ciri's body could heal quickly with the aid of the Force, even swifter if she applied it directly to her trauma. However, the scars were something she could not erase. On her stomach, from beneath her left breast and tugging diagonally to her hip, three deep claw marks ran along what used to be a beautifully flat, smooth alabaster stomach. Her face wasn't as bad, the teeth marks leaving two silver lines cutting into her right eyebrow, one having found more purchase to slice down over her lid and to the cusp of her cheekbone. Pressing her lips, another mark marred to the left of her cupid's bow, marking only the upper lip. With a sigh, she knew that they didn't make her ugly, but it was so strange seeing herself with these scars, thinking of the dewy face of her with white hair and vibrant violet eyes. 

Now, they were replaced with the pale ash blonde and steel blue eyes. Originally, she had thought it was a replacement of her original self, regaining Emma Mars' features. But this was not true. Her eyes were like the color of beskar and her hair striped with the different layers of the steel as she folded and smelted. Her new reflection, if familiar to how Emma Mars originally looked, was all steel and forge fire. Ciri looked like her forge. 

Following the death of the saber, she was allowed to begin on her heartplate, having earned the honor during her hunt. Fashioned out of the same blue-silver steel as her helmet. Before each new piece of beskar, she had to go and hunt. Wearing the white pelt of the feline as a cloak, she braved the weather and went out with more and more armor - returning victorious, but also thanking her challenges. None had been as much effort as the cat, but she earned a few more scars along the way to include one on the back of her left calf, another running down her right thigh before she had beskar to protect her. 

A noise garnered her attention one afternoon, a thin whizzing as she patrolled the forest around her mountain. A mechanical whizzing. Prowling along the snowy curtain, she used her helmet's target lockon to spot a speeder blasting up the downy flakes in its wake like waves. This was the first, real, person or droid or whoever they were in months. Right? It had been months. Sort of easy to lose track of time when you were a hermit.

Curious. If there were settlements, they weren't anywhere close to the mountains. Vaguely, she recalled that there might be other Mandalorians on the planet. Clan Wren, wasn't it? Tarre had mentioned that they were staunch vassals of Clan Vizsla. Not that she belonged to his clan, but the thought was fleeting as the speeder blazed off into the white haze.

Continuing her work for the afternoon and into the night, she rounded up the animals from her snares, stringing them up by their legs and beginning her trek back to the mountains as light was fading. With that, the majority of the heat would go too. Humming lightly to herself to the tune Once Upon a December, she crested the familiar jagged hills and paused. Out in the silver curtain of night she noticed smoke and a red glowing ember on the landscape. Perhaps whoever she had watched earlier had settled down for the evening.

No. Tilting her helmet, she noticed the black peel to the smoke. That was not wood burning. Glancing back toward the mountain, she began toward the sight of the blaze. The closer she neared, the more she was beginning to realize that this was not a camp. Her legs churned quicker, whipping out with the Force to try and search for signs of life. Lurid like a sweet honey trail, she could sense the life clinging desperately.

She dropped her hunt and sprinted toward the broken speeder, which smoldered in choking obsidian smoke, having imploded already. Discarded nearby, a figure facedown in the snow, wearing beskar that was painted gray with yellow accents. Turning the Mandalorian over, her palms pressed to the chestplate, as she comprehended that he had head trauma. 

Removing the helmet, she observed the blood matting black hair to the man's face. His breathing was shallow, entire body aching from the concussive force that had thrown him away from his broken speeder. Reminded duly of Din's similar trauma, she brought the palms of her gloves to the sides of his face, focusing the Force. Pulling the tethers, mending the swollen brain injury, her hands glowing a grim pale green. Eyes fluttered, brown eyes observing her briefly before closing again, brows straining.

"Lo'gar kemir?" (Can you walk?) she asked him, aware that the looming shadow of the reaper had disappeared. But if they did not move on, the cold would claim the both of them and she needed to conserve her energy to get back to the mountain. 

"Who..." the man flinched again. "'Lek." (Yeah) She slid his helmet back on.

Helping haul him to his feet, she braced the Mandalorian against her and started the arduous journey through the snow and up the steep incline toward the mountains. He was heavy, his beskar weighing him down, and his steps stuttering as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him in tandem with his aches. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the entrance, pressing her palm against it to open the path.

There were no questions asked, perhaps the Mandalorian was barely awake as she helped guide him down the stairs. He would not see the spirits either, but the last fronds of night were beginning to blot away the stars. Bringing him down to where she slept, she laid the stranger down after removing his jetpack and scurried off to grab her kit. In it were a few bacta-reagents that she'd acquired from Han and Leia, but conserved due to her own ability to heal with the Force, in addition to a shiny set of beskar medical tools. 

His breathing was steadier now, her eyes sliding over to the painted image of a loth-cat on his pauldron. She removed his helmet again, cleaning away the blood from his face and assessing the spot where he'd whipped his head against the inner edge of his helmet. Using medical tape she bound the laceration after wiping it with a bacta salve. Part way through her work, the Mandalorian started away again, grabbing her arm in a tight grip - reminding her duly of another Mando.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his lashes still fluttering from exhaustion.

"Haar'Goran," (The Smith) she responded cryptically, the basic grating on her ears in a strange way. Having not heard it for months, it felt queer. "Relax. You are safe here."

"Where is here? We... went somewhere I do not recognize," his fingers loosened and dropped as his head settled back down against the cot. 

"Ka'ra," she answered simply, offering him some water, helping lean him up to drink it. 

"I've never seen you before," the man grumbled. 

"For good reason," she mused, smiling beneath her helmet. "How did your speeder explode?"

"Imps," he groaned, the smile sliding right off her face and her fingers tensing as she sifted through her medkit. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Haar'Goran."

He snorted. "That's not a real name."

"What's a real name sound like then?" she challenged. 

"Tristan Wren," he retorted, glaring slightly from his spot on the cot. "Where is Ka'ra?"

"So many questions," she clucked, albeit pedantically. "You should rest and I will answer more at a later time. You endured a pretty nasty head wound."

Tristan considered her quietly, but given what she had done so far, relinquished himself to the cot with a long sigh. She was a Mandalorian and had pulled him from out of the wreckage to help him. 

While she had met many Mandalorians who walked the halls of Manda, she had not met another living Mandalorian aside from Din. From her own knowledge, most removed their helmets outside of battle and she gleaned the same of Tristan. He seemed about her age, give or take a few years. However, his warning of Imperials made her wonder if they were on Krownest for her. If they were...

 _The Forge is in danger,_ she thought duly.

She needed to meditate on this, consider her options, and what she wanted to do in response. Her training was not as important as the Forge itself. She could return and resume, but if it were destroyed, so would a part of her new being. Deep in contemplation, she stirred only when she heard Tristan rousing from his reparative slumber, feeling proud of herself for her work and swift assistance to a fellow Mandalorian. 

"How are you faring?" she inquired, her back still to him as he stretched. 

"My head..." he considered quietly. "You used bacta on it?"

"Of a sorts," she responded narrowly, slightly unwilling to betray all her secrets.

"What is this place?" 

"Ka'ra," she repeated as if he were daft now, she'd said it a few times now. 

She could feel his glare now, turning her head to look at him. 

"Would you like to see? That is, if you're well enough. Otherwise, you're going back down," she clucked, pushing up on her knees to stand and trot over to him. Picking up the medical scanner, she grabbed his arm before he had the chance to tuck it away defensively and took a reading on his vitals. One of the most beautiful inventions in this galaxy - which did the work of a stethoscope, BP monitor, and even could display an x-ray of veins and arteries. 

"I'll survive," Tristan bit back, allowing her to check his recovery. 

"Come then. If you can keep up," placing the object down on her bag, she began moving toward the stairs leading out of the scant barracks, tilting her helmet toward him inquisitively. "Well?"

Wren managed to get to his feet, picking up his helmet and retrieving a torchlight. Ciri had become so accustomed to the lay of the temple that she had little use for a light, especially in tandem with her helmet's night-vision. Their footfalls echoed through the cavernous chambers, to where her Forge simmered quietly with gunmetal blue flames - the same as her eyes. 

"This is-" his voice cracked, a tentative hand pausing before reaching out to graze the edge of the primordial forge. "Before you said you were the Blacksmith... You can use this?"

"My name isn't a euphemism elsewise," she retorted glibly, crossing her arms and leaning against the familiar curve of the forge. 

Tristan Wren considered it, then considered her for a long few minutes. She knew what this meant to him and other Mandalorians that had nowhere to fix their beskar, nowhere to acquire new pieces for foundlings, nothing after the Empire had ripped it all out of their hands. What she leaned upon, almost with an air of arrogance, was a hope that few expected to have survived. "Show me."

Ciri snorted at him, standing up and turning to her work bench. "I save your life and now you're making demands of me in my home? You are not my verde," but still, despite the bite of her words, she lifted her hammer to admire the way that the flames behind her captured the dark, abysmal depths of the beskar. "Why were there Imps chasing you?" Bring it with her alongside a set of tongs, she heated the forge, burning her hotter. 

She had been working on her own jetpack, though several modifications had to be made to suit her perfectly. As a medic, she did not need a cannon or missile launcher. Rather, she was outfitting it to double as a pack that could carry her ensemble of beskar medical tools, a sanitizing station, and other medical necessities. Her vambraces already carried some, outfitted with slots for bacta-shots and a cauterizer. While there wasn't any need for them to be as flashy as Din's, she had included tranquilizing darts (for both friend and foe) and inlaid the ability to use the vambraces as defibrillators should the need arise. 

Ciri knew that she couldn't rely entirely on the force at all times and preferred not to, considering there might be too much healing for her to do that utilizing the Force was not practical. For the worst traumas, she would use it, like Tristan's brain injury. 

"They have been appearing on Krownest with increasing regularity over the past few months. We've had problems before when Clan Saxon was allying with them in an attempt to run my own Clan off the planet. Haven't seen them in a few years," Tristan admitted finally, watching as she began to tinker. "I was running routine patrol to try and get a look at what they were up to. Deathtroopers were amongst them and slipped a tracker onto my speeder. Didn't know what was happening until they'd began tailing me."

"Why didn't you just use your jetpack?" Ciri pointed out.

"Out of fuel," he revealed grudgingly. "Haven't had a run for some time here now, so the more important equipment has been taking priority."

So no information on what the Imps were doing here. She might already be on borrowed time. They wouldn't know where she was or how to access it, but who was to say they wouldn't find it and blow a hole in the mountainside? Pursing her lips, she tried not to reveal her worries to the new Mandalorian, but could already feel her caution beginning to itch like a mosquito bite. 

"I have some fuel here. Take it with you come tomorrow evening and return to your aliit," (clan) Ciri decided finally, lifting a cauldron of melted beskar before turning to the mold she had created. 

"Is there anyone else here with you?" Tristan asked, not out of spite, but curiosity.

There were, but not in a respect he could comprehend. "No, it is just me," she lied.

"Where is your aliit?"

"Far away from here," but she didn't even know if Din considered her a part of his clan. Her pauldrons were blank save for the cross she had put on each one to indicate that she was a medic. However, the front where the sigil was meant to go, was blank. 

"Taab'echaaj'la?" (Marching far away?) his voice was softer, kinder in a manner. 

"Nayc," (No) she replied simply. "Just not here." She lowered her hammer to hit the metal, warping it with each kiss to steel. The beskar began to sing its song for her, melodic and staccato with each tinny strike. Whilst she worked, he did not bother her, looking on with intrigue as she molded the metal, heated it, folded it, heated it again. Beskar required being folded many times and could be seen as an arduous task. But that was what she loved about it. Each fold resulted in a new timbre, altered slightly, and still warbling. She knew when perfection was reached by the beautiful ballad it could sing, without trembling in its tone.

The jetpack was still not done, but she assembled the wires and added more panels to it. Setting her work aside, she turned back to Tristan who had replaced his helmet and been watching on the entire time. "You were not always here."

"Just as you were not always here. People live, people die, some travel the edges of the galaxy and beyond," she replied flippantly, wondering if they were going to broach this subject yet again.

"Do you intend on staying here?" he seemed to comprehend; she wasn't willing to part with many details about herself.

"For a time," but she had a feeling she might have to leave to preserve it. Eventually, her path would come back here, but for now, she could wait a bit longer before revealing herself. 

"There are few left who can do what you do. Few forges that can melt beskar," Tristan began carefully. "There are many clans that need the hands of Smith."

"Then spread the word, but be sparing of whom you tell. I may not be able to linger here long with the Empire sniffing, but I shall return when it is safe to do so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: she does not know that there is a forge on Nevarro as she never met the Armorer
> 
> I loathe boobs on armor. THERE ARE NO BOOBS ON THE HEARTPLATE. Ok? Ok. I just had to get that out of my system. Putting boobs on it would just ruin the integrity of the chestplate. Bind your boobs and get over it. Plus for beskar that was heritage armor, why the heck would it have boobs? It would be a generic shape/size, flat so women or men could wear it.
> 
> As you might have noticed, I am dragging the hell out between their separation. Since Din isn't actively searching for a home for Grogu, the events of Season 2 are delayed. 
> 
> Just a quick note about Ciri's powers. Her connection to the Force is impeccably strong, which is why Gideon was able to locate her in the first place and why Windu's Force Spirit also latched onto her. While she was able to learn Windu's trade quickly, it never sat well with her because of her predisposition to only kill when needed - whereas Windu would kill if the outcome was justice and for the Republic.
> 
> However, there are certain things that she's very good at aside from her intuition. She's able to connect with spirits of people dead and living, thus her ability to find Leia across the galaxy and also her ability to speak to the spirits of Manda. This is not an ability that all Force-sensitives would have. As Tarre has mentioned, her hands have the ability to mend. In her past life, that was to mend soldiers and this talent transitions as Tarre actually teaches her to heal both flesh and metal. To her, beskar is becoming a living thing as she can reflect upon the warriors that wore the armor. 
> 
> Of course, she has other basic Force powers - such as being able to imbue her body to make it stronger, but she's set aside shatterpoint since she doesn't really like the premise of it.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More hunting will take place in this chapter. I know hunting may not be savory amongst most people, but it’s part of Mandalorian culture. 
> 
> A shout out to all of my lovelies reading, your reviews are amazing and really inspire me. The positivity, your love of where the story is going, and support. All of it! 
> 
> A few of you have been posting on every chapter and I really would like to thank you as well for being along for the ride and supporting me.
> 
> Hugs and kisses to everyone.

_"When enough people make false promises; words stop meaning anything."_

* * *

Ciri was still on Krownest, unwilling to part until she was certain that the Empire was there for her. For now, they weren't anywhere near her mountain and Ka'ra, so she kept a low profile and made certain not to walk around all willy nilly for a chance of encountering scouting troopers. Tarre was just as cautious as she was, considering that their days were numbered, and that they had to be careful. Working as swiftly as she could to reduce all the beskar'gam to bars, she stashed them into repositories where they could be utilized at a later date. Her own ensemble had been completed and thus the rest would be saved for others - and there was plenty that had been saved in Ka'ra. 

Estimating based on how many bars she had, Ciri expected she had enough to make at least 20 more sets of full beskar'gam from scratch. That was even after she'd made herself medical grade tools and a beskad (sword). Even if her grasp of credits was vague, only having bought things on Tatooine, she knew that the generous amount of beskar was likely worth hundreds of thousands of credits. Essentially, it was a massive treasure horde waiting to be scooped up and the Empire would be more than eager to take it and smash the forge, as they'd done with all of the others.

Upon leaving Ka'ra right before dusk to go out and check her traps, she was startled to find the glow of Tristan Wren's beskar against the snow. He was not alone, having been sitting out beneath trees with a second Mandalorian. Turning toward her, his helmet tilted slightly in a greeting. He had watched her descend from the mountain path, but not exactly where the door had been. Either way, it couldn't be opened by anyone other than a Force-wielder. 

Next to him was a very tall and broad Mandalorian in heavy armor. The beskar was chipped, scratched, and dented, lacking overall shine due to being painted a cobalt blue. "Haar'Goran," Wren entreated, stepping toward her. 

"Olarom, vod," (Welcome, brother/comrade) she greeted evenly, though her copper visor inclined toward the heavy artillery Mandalorian beside him. "Who do I have the honor of meeting today?"

"Paz Vizsla," he spoke for himself, taking a step forward. Clan Wren served the Vizslas, so she was not too taken aback by his name. "I am in need of repairs to my beskar'gam. I hear that you would be able to assist me."

"I would," Ciri answered narrowly, glancing up toward the sky as the darkness was encroached by the fingers of dawn. "However, given the time, I'm afraid we'll have to wait until nightfall before we can enter Ka'ra."

That puzzled them, bringing a light smile to her face. Of course, they wouldn't truly comprehend the inner workings of the forge, but she had at least expected that Wren would have retraced his steps and made an attempt to find her again only to find an impassable mountainside. 

"I was intending on going on a smaller hunt, but since I have ol'averde, perhaps we can make better use of the time," (company) she suggested.

"I have not been on a hunt in some time," Vizsla admitted, but did not sound deterred by the prospect. Instead, he sounded rather excited. 

"If we have time to burn," Wren shrugged, not quite as eager as his counterpart, but nonchalant. 

"The Imps do not patrol close around these areas," Ciri informed them. "But I wouldn't suggest using blasters."

"Any Imps that encounter us will certainly be amongst the least of our worries," Wren mused lightly.

Three Mandalorians? One of which was a heavy gunner. Oh yes, whoever found them was not going to have fun. Still, there was no need to draw attention to themselves and hunting without the use of blasters was always more of a challenge. Plus, Ciri did not have more than 50 rounds left in her pistol. 

Setting off into the eternal winter landscape, it wasn't Ciri who found the first set of tracks. Instead, Wren took point, discovering the talon marks of a large avian that lived amongst the mountain peaks. During her time on Krownest, she'd encountered various beasts, to include the saber, a reptilian wolf, and even an ice crocodile that thrived in the cold. But the raptor had never bothered to come down from the crags to grace her with its presence. Part of her was sort of glad for that, considering that the imprint in the snow was just as large as the saber's pawprint, meaning this thing could have plucked the cat right out of the snow if it chose to.

"Snow eagle," Wren remarked, glancing up amongst the pale shadows of the trees. "We'd have to take to the sky to hunt it."

Ciri was liking this idea less and less. "That'll attract unnecessary attention."

"Let the Imps come," Paz retorted, shouldering his rifle. "Vod, suggested a hunt and we have found it." (Sister)

Ciri grumbled beneath her breath as Wren inspected the trees. "Usually they brood on the mountainsides. This one probably came down for a hunt of its own. Doesn't seem it was successful." Or else there'd be a considerable amount of blood dashed on the snow. Red on white. She'd become accustomed to the paintings in the snow to indicate death.

"What do you have for weapons?" Ciri inquired, reaching for her beskad. She had her vibro-blade too, but doubted that she'd manage to get close enough to this bird to use it. 

"Vibro-blade aside from the rifle and blaster," Wren admitted.

"Beskar'marev," (iron knuckles) Paz tapped his gauntlets which encircled over his knuckles.

"God help us," Ciri muttered to herself, wishing she could rescind her offer to go hunting. But she didn't even have the chance to suggest they not do this, instead Vizsla took to the sky and she was left giving Wren a hard look through her visor. "Snow eagle? You couldn't have picked something on the ground?"

"We'll be eating well tonight," he sounded like he was grinning beneath his helmet, her voice analyzing hinting at the mischievousness in him. He jetted off, leaving Ciri alone in the snow, her heart pounding. She hadn't gotten into her Phoenix Drills too much outside Ka'ra. As far as either of them knew, she'd grown up Mandalorian and should know how to fly as well as them.

Fuck.

Rather than delay, she engaged her pack and jetted after them, shaky as first until she managed to stabilize herself. Beneath the ground darted away, almost as if she were in a Black Hawk, but the wind whipped around her and tried to sink its frigid teeth through her base layers. Lined with the fur of the saber, she was still warm, but listing to the will of the gusts as she tried to catch up to the men. 

The same drafts that threatened to dash Solo against the mountainsides were difficult to maneuver, pushing hard against Ciri. Wren and Vizsla had more experience, sailing between the pockets and darting into the streams that would not impede them. For her it was guess and pray that the Force wouldn't let her be pummeled into the rockface. Well, this was one way to learn her Phoenix Drills.

Wren landed on a ledge, Vizsla neatly behind him before she struggled up after them. Her boots scraped the edge and Paz snapped out, grabbing the collar of her cloak to keep her from falling off. 

"Vor'e," (thanks) she nearly squeaked, barely controlling her voice as her head spun at the sheer drop behind her. 

"It was here," Wren picked up a few feathers. 

"Is this its nest?" Ciri bent down, observing the dried frays of wood and grass that had been left on the outcropping. 

"Maybe a while ago, but not recently," Wren answered.

They took off again, pressing beneath the draft and higher in altitude. Her visor was beginning to frost up, despite the programming it had. The temperature was blinking on her display and now she could feel the fangs of frigidness sinking into her skin. Hissing a steaming breath, she trailed after the men, uncertain this was the best idea the closer they sailed toward one of the peaks. 

"Ja'hailir!" (Look) The voice screamed through her com system, flipping down her targeting system retina to see the white form flitting amongst the wind with impeccable velocity. The red square pinged, trying to keep track of the creature as it darted as if imbibed by the Force. It was using the drafts of wind to accelerate and dive.

Ciri blinked and it whistled by her, snagging a talon past her heartplate, causing her to whirl around in the air, losing all sense of up and down. Mind reeling, she tried to locate the avian again. Fuck this. This wasn't a hunt, this was a death wish. Briefly, her eyes found the creature again, tearing back toward them. Drawing her beskad, she watched as it flitted toward the peak, arching massive wings to screech in defiance. 

There had to be a nest. Why else was the bird risking fighting them? Ciri pushed upward in an attempt to crest the mountain and find the groove where a nest might be. Her own flying skills were not adept enough for her to risk tumbling through the air and using up all her fuel for her jetpack. Her knees rocked as she landed with no grace, craning her neck to watch as Wren and Vizsla weaved through the clouds in an attempt to flush out and flank the eagle. 

Snow pelted her, whipping a white hell around her visor. Flipping to the infrared, there were no details aside from the cold patterns. She had a gaze down at her hands just to be certain that it was working properly, trudging along the mountain ridge. The men kept trying to trade with the bird, but in the sky the raptor had the advantage, especially when they were not using blasters. Nimbly evading them and letting out squall taunts, Ciri's view flickered.

There. Just ahead, nestled against a crook on the ridge was a small cavern. Grabbing the ledge, she swung herself in, glad for the reprieve from the lashing gales. Her infrared lit up, the warm eggs nestled inside a downy thicket of branches and grass. Trotting forward, she pressed her palm against one of the eggs, feeling the hum of life within the shell. Part of her didn't want to kill the eagle, but that feeling quickly vanished when a sharp beak flashed out and sent her wheeling backward. Crooning around the obscured corner of nook was another eagle. 

She was smaller than the one outside, but still bigger than any bird that Ciri had seen in her life. Wielding her beskad, her ears buzzed with adrenaline as the eagle fluffed up and let out a furious squall, repeating itself several times before Ciri comprehended what was happening. 

"Oh shit," she drove forward, away that in a matter of moments, she might be pinched between two, pissed eagles. The mother bird battered her with wings, her beak glancing off the beskar helmet as Ciri swatted the sharpened edge of her sword against the avian's breast. Just like the telltale signs of a kill, the white feathers rendered and split where the machete-like instrument battered it. A pitiful wail made her flinch as the bird staggered back, swiping out with talons. As large as the bird was, it was still a bird, which was light boned and fragile when compared to reptilians and predatory mammals.

Spinning the beskad, Ciri delivered a humane killing blow, plunging into the chest cavity where the heart would be. A soft whine parted the beak before the creature sagged against her. Her stomach churned with discomfort. Usually her hunts were more rewarding, a long battle would ensue, and they would fight tooth and claw until the end. But as she stood over the brood, she thought back to the mudhorn on Arvala-7. Odd how that felt ages ago, another life away. 

She was ripped back, the male eagle having returned to find her killing his mate. A talon hooked underneath the back of her chestplate, erring close to rending the flesh on her back before she was thrown against the wall like a ragdoll. Air being blown from her lungs, she lifted her head weakly, trying to blink away the spinning as her fingers reached for the fallen beskad. 

But the eagle didn't take another menacing step toward her. Vizsla bowled into it, the weight of his massive body and armor knocking the eagle to the ground, smashing his brood, cracking the eggshells and yolk smearing against the straw and branches. Drawing up a fist, Paz delivered a strong blow to the eagle's dazed head, just as Wren followed up, turning his helmet to look at her, then the dead female eagle.

He trotted over, helping wrench her to her feet, planting her beskad back in her gloved palm. When they looked back at the large eagle, it had been killed by Vizsla. 

"See? Not too difficult," Paz stood up, his chest heaving, a few discarded feathers sticking out of his armor where the beskar had pinched it from the bird.

Ciri's disdain was nearly palpable as she glared at the carnage. "This is not an honorable kill. They were protecting a nest full of babies."

"Only the strong survive," Paz retorted, much to her dislike. "Hunt or be hunted."

"There are other beasts on this planet that would have been a better hunt," Ciri answered haughtily, turning to wince at her own kill. Leaving the corpse here to the flies would be a waste. She had slain it and thus, she had to salvage the resources to make any of it worth it. Still, her guilt twisted in her belly like a knife. Sliding her beskad back onto her back, she drew her vibro-blade and began her work in bitter silence.

Wren and Vizsla worked on the larger raptor, a cookfire being created with the branches so that they could roast a massive leg over a spit, juices leaking down on fire with hissing pops. Oddly, Wren was the only one who removed his helmet to enjoy the hot flesh. Ciri had collected the best feathers from the female eagle, a few talons, and the meat, trussing her prize on the back of her jetpack to bring back to Ka'ra. The food would last her at least a week.

Thumbing the feathers in her hands, she considered what she was going to do with them. 

"Not going to eat?" Paz asked, despite the fact that he hadn't made a move for his own helmet.

"Not here," she answered evenly.

"Do you follow the Way?"

"I follow my way," she replied, but her brows furrowed, considering him fully in that moment. "Do you?"

"Yes."

Her heart fluttered, thinking of Din as she sat across the fire from Paz. "Where are you from?"

"Mandalore."

"No," she began steadily. "Where were you before this? Where was your clan?"

"For a while I was staying on Nevarro with the Tribe," Paz revealed. "What do you mean, your own way?"

Nevarro. That's where the other Mandalorians had been. Back on Nevarro she had sensed reinforcements coming when she'd been nestled on Din's back during their escape to the Razor Crest. Had Paz been amongst those that had helped secure their departure? 

Turning her helmet, she glanced out of the mouth of the cave and observed the glint of the purple sky winking with stars. "It is time," she evaded his question, saddling her back with the meat and feathers. "Unless you'd prefer to stay here for the night."

Didn't seem the men needed to be told twice. They picked up their own prizes and followed her out of the cave. Throwing herself out, an unnatural pit in her stomach from doing something that was so obviously wrong, she engaged her jetpack and drifted against the downward stream that flanked the mountains. Cruising downward was much easier than going up, but there were a few rickety moments when the gusts erred her close to the mountain face. 

Her landing this time was better, not stellar, but at least she was able to recover while turning to face the entrance to Ka'ra. Eyes tracing the lines of starlight on the stone, she followed their paths until she reached the familiar swirl of the door. Wren and Vizsla landed behind her just as she pressed her palm against the stone, focusing the Force. Moaning deeply, the mouth of the temple opened and she turned to glance back at the pair of Mandalorians, sensing their astonishment. 

"Olaror." (Come)

"Our ways part here for now, Vizsla. I'll watch your starship until you return," Wren tilted his helmet to her second. "Haar'Goran, I leave him in your hands."

"I hope this isn't going to become a common occurrence or else I'll need to begin taking appointments," Ciri smarted dryly, but turned down the stairwell and began her descent without checking to see if Paz followed her. If he wanted repairs to his armor, he would.

Her eyes slid across the spirits who milled around, their glows illuminating her path as her feet moved with dexterous memory. The Vizsla lingered behind her, drinking in the features around him, then trailing toward the pale blue glow of the hearth in the next room. Ciri bent over the forge and heated her, the fingers of frost being chased away from her extremities. Setting her pack down, she stretched her fingers up toward the ceiling and then cocked her visor toward Paz. 

"What is this place?" he asked, still glancing around.

"Ka'ra."

"I only know of one forge that still exists and that is if the Imps did not smash it after flushing the Tribe out of Nevarro," he said carefully, stepping up to brush the edge of the forge as if it might disappear at his touch. 

"If you were amongst the Tribe, then you might know my friend," Ciri started slowly, wondering how she'd broach this. Din didn't seem to share his name, as he'd told her that it was only for her. Just thinking of that, the moment they'd shared, and how she'd screamed his name - made her blush beneath her helmet. "He does not use his name and wears a set of beskar'gam that is not painted. He is a beroya." (Bounty hunter)

Paz tore his visor up from the forge to leer at her. "I know the Mando you speak of. He brought beskar smelted by the Empire to replace his durasteel."

"That would be him," a smile queried the corners of her mouth. 

"How do you know him? I have never seen you amongst the Tribe."

"I do not belong to the Tribe," Ciri revealed, stepping toward him to scrutinize his armor. "Please, remove the pieces you wish for me to repair..." she trailed off as she considered his question. "I... was amongst one of the bounties he turned into the Empire."

Paz was just undoing the straps to his chestplate when he froze. "He turned in a Mandalorian?" He had been a bit irritated before this, but now she could tell that he was furious. 

Licking her lips, she realized her mistake and placed her hands up in a calming manner. "No. I was not Mandalorian when he turned me in."

"Then..." Vizsla cocked his head. "You became his foundling?"

"No, it is more complex than that," Ciri chuckled.

He resumed working on taking the heavy chestplate off. Once he did, he set it down on the edge of the forge before sparing another look at her. "How did you open the path here?"

"The Force," she picked up the piece of armor, removing the leather straps since they could not be placed in the forge. "This place was built by your ancestor, Vizsla. I presume you know the story of Tarre Vizsla."

"As do most Mandalorians," Paz responded evenly. "Are you... like my ancestor?"

"In a manner of speaking," she nodded, setting the straps down before taking her tongs. "I was not raised or taught by the Jedi Order, but I do know Tarre. He led me here to this hidden forge and taught me the way."

"The Way..." Paz breathed, resigning himself to a nearby bench as he chewed on the information she had tossed at him. Surprisingly, he was rather content to believe it, which startled her. Maybe it was because she'd opened a path on a seamless mountain face that convinced him more that she could be part Jedi. 

Heating his armor, she took it to the anvil to begin beating out the dents and scratches. He would have to repaint the surfaces that she repaired. However, a deeper groove indicated why he had come there in the first place. "How did you manage this?" she asked, drawing her finger along a hairline fracture that was on the cusp of ruining the integrity of the iron.

"Vibro-axe to the chest," Paz chuckled.

Ciri grimaced at the idea and returned the steel to the forge, needing to heat it considerably more to fix this. "Must've hurt like a bastard."

"Broke a few of my ribs, but I'm still here and they're not," he shrugged.

Under her hammer, the beskar rang, but did not sing until she had properly bent out all the blemishes. Her mind wandered, curious that Paz had not told her that she was not Mandalorian. He had to be aware that she'd only donned her helmet within the time since the fight in Nevarro. Being that this was less than 2 years ago, that would mean she'd only recently begun walking the path. And yet, there was no word on the back of his tongue calling her a pretender. She had worried that other Mandalorians might treat her this way. Wren was in the dark about her heritage, but she had revealed more to Paz because Tarre had built the temple and he deserved to know.

Water hissed like a pack of feral cats around the plate as she submerged it.

"What way did Tarre follow?" Paz asked curiously.

"The Resol'nare," she answered simply.

"Then you... you're not part of the Tribe, I assume you were not born on Mandalore, and while you are a foundling... what path is it that you walk?" he inquired thoughtfully.

"The path of solitude. At least, for now," she pursed her lips. "I am waiting to remove my helmet. My oath is not quite as strict as the Tribe's, but... when I donned it, I promised that I would not remove it until I was reunited with my friend - the Mando you know - and my son."

"How long has it been?" 

"You ask too many questions," she huffed.

"You keep answering them," he pointed out glibly.

Almost as if she wanted someone to talk to, as if grew lonely talking only to spirits. Pushing a sigh, she removed the chestplate from the water and took a rag to it. "Almost a year, I think. I can't be certain, it's difficult to tell time in here."

"Friend," he repeated strangely. "Or riduur?" (spouse)

Ciri chortled, mostly out of heated spite for herself. "No, not that," her lips were twisted in a thin smile. "We separated when I went on this path. It was no place for my ad." (son)

"Why would you leave your ad in the care of another Mando unless you were together?"

"He is my adopted son, not from my own womb," Ciri finished polishing the chestplate to see the repairs had taken well. "He is not human. While he has strengths of his own, he would have been ill suited for this environment. Nor do I have the time to take care of him. He is safer in the hands of Mando. I trust him with my life."

"When do you plan to see your adiit again?"

He called them a clan, but Ciri didn't know if she'd earned that honor after abandoning them. Instead, her pauldrons only blazed her medic symbol. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "But I may have to leave soon because of the Imps. I cannot risk them discovering the forge." She slipped the leather straps back onto the chestplate and returned the beskar to its owner. 

Paz turned over the armor, running his gloves over the top where the damage had once been. "Come with me," he suggested. "I am going to Concord Dawn to rally Mandalorians. A storm is coming and we could use every Mandalorian we can get. You're a baar'ur?" (medic) he gestured to her pauldrons.

"Elek," she nodded, considering his words. "What are we gathering for?"

"To fight for Mandalore. Our numbers are scattered across the galaxy, but there are those of us who have been spreading word to regroup on Concord Dawn. We are without Mand'alor and fragmented," he paused, considering the forge. "If we get a large enough company we could return here and secure Krownest. Since this planet is in the Mandalore Sector, it would be quicker for Mandalorians to travel here for repairs than to Nevarro... where the sanctity of that forge is disputed."

Her lips quirked at her realization. "You didn't really need your armor repaired as badly as you let on, did you?"

"I didn't realize that fracture was there," Paz answered, but did not deny her suggestion. "Mandalorians are stronger together."

Sighing, she turned around and glanced toward where the beskar ingots were tucked away. "I have enough beskar to create more sets of beskar'gam. If there are soldiers who lost theirs and wish to take up arms again, I can forge their path anew."

"But not now," Paz agreed. "This planet is getting too much attention from the Empire. We cannot afford to lose this forge."

It was time to go. Paz Vizsla had come to retrieve her and escort her somewhere safer. "Very well," she wasn't going to put up a fight. Eventually she had to leave, at least where she was going to go wouldn't be left up to chance, nor was it into the Empire's hands. "I have one request."

"A request?" he was strapping his chestplate back on. 

"Teach me how to fly a starship."

* * *

"You're going to fucking kill us!" Paz roared as she jerked the controls to the ship, sending them spinning through the air as Imperial TIE Fighters strafed behind them. "Give me the controls!"

"Sit your ass down!" she snapped irritably, the Force humming in her ears as she flipped a few switches. "Get on the weapons, I can fly this." Fly was a... strong word. Ciri had only been flying for a couple of months now and was certainly in her daring teenage phase of 'let's drive as fast and recklessly as possible'. But it wasn't her fault that flying was so much fun or that the Force was an exceptionally good assistance when it came to comprehending where she needed to twist and turn to evade incoming cannon blasts. Of course, her warnings were always so close, that she had to veer sharply to dodge anything, tossing anything unsecured in Paz's starship, smashing them against the walls.

But tailing her were Imperial starfighters and Paz's gunship was at a slight disadvantage when it came to speed and maneuverability. Concord Dawn hasn't been as safe as she had originally assumed. When Vizsla had requested that she go with him, she had believed that the planet was going to be quiet. She could not have been more wrong. The Empire dropped probe ships to harry the locals, forcing the Mandalorians to come to the surface to their defense. With each new warrior they added to their ranks, the more insistent the Empire became on quashing a rebellion before it could swell enough to cause problems on Mandalore - which was being governed by the pacifist regime, squirming beneath the shadow Empire's thumbnail.

Her 'safety' was in the fact that other Mandalorians knew she existed and wanted to make certain she didn't die. Other than that, Ciri expected she probably would have been safer hiding in her mountain. However, being back out in the field made her heart soar high in the sky and she thrived. Even if that meant she made Paz want to piss himself half the time. Their relationship was not anything close to what she'd had with Din. He had respect for her, but there was an erring reverence she could hear in his voice when he spoke to others about her. They were comparing her to Tarre Vizsla - the Jedi Mandalorian.

Ciri hated that. Even if he had trained her, she was no Jedi. Mace Windu had made certain that she comprehended that when she defaulted to the Mandalorian path. It made her try harder, try to prove that she was more than the rumors. Because they were expecting her to whip out a lightsaber and fight amongst them, despite the fact that this was not where her strengths laid. No, her talent was beside the forge and on the field patching her allies up. She could hold her own, but she was no ori'ramikad (supercommando), despite her Force abilities. 

She garnered more titles, more affectionate names aside from Haar'Goran since she refused to reveal her name up until this point. Those were to include (her least favorite) Kih or Tiny, Doc, Jetii (Jedi), or Kebiin (blue) for the color of her armor. 

"Stop turning the ship so much and I'd be able to lock on, Kih," Paz snapped.

"Sure, let me do that and get us blasted to Manda," she snarked back, reversing the thrusters. "Going in for a drop back, hold on-"

"Hold on-" he didn't finish his sentence as he smashed into the weapon controls.

"Should have worn your seat belt," she snickered, the TIE fighters zipping over them as she stalled the ship. 

Paz locked on and shot down the first one before the second strafed out of view. She turned both engines back on and started after the other TIE fighter, aware that her stall might allow for it to circle back around to lock sights on them. 

"I'm gonna do it."

Paz snapped his helmet toward her. "Don't," he warned. "This is not a starfighter. Don't you fucking do it."

"It'll work," she knew it would, the Force was leading her hands as she pushed forward, allowing the TIE fighter to jump behind them. Another two seconds and they'd lock onto the gunship. Listing the controls, she pulled hard up to begin tilting the ship at a 90 degree angle. Just as Paz had warned, the ship was not made to do this. Bucking and vibrating with each stride as they plowed up toward the sky. "Get ready." Tucking completely, going from 90 to 180, they were plummeting toward the ground and straight toward the TIE fighter that had continued the chase perpendicular. 

Paz's trigger finger shot first, the fighter exploding, zipping down through the shrapnel as her muscles strained to level the ship before it darted into the surface of the planet and dashed them to pieces as well. "Why did I teach you to fly this fucking thing?" he grumbled to himself. 

"Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad. Look, they're dead, we're alive," Ciri pointed out, waving her hand as she set the course for the homestead that was their base of operations. For the planet where the Mandalorians were supposed to be regrouping, she was dismayed to find that there were no large settlements and mostly farms. Of course, the intention was to try and seem as if they weren't regrouping in an army, but it also left them exposed by these Imp patrols.

"Maker, I'm sending Skelky with you next time," Paz groaned.

She wrinkled her nose at the thought of Skelky, a rather prying and annoying Mandalorian. Amongst the small company that had gathered only she and Paz refused to remove their helmets. He had vouched for her, telling them that she followed the Way, but the others had been quick to be disdainful. Skelky had been decent at first, but she swiftly gleaned his true intentions. He was interested in her and what was beneath the helmet. Perhaps a crush and incessant flirtations, but Paz hadn't done her any favors by telling them she had no riduur. Right, she'd told him that Din and her were a clan of sorts, but never implied anything more than that. 

"I swear to every God in this galaxy, if I ever get stuck in a room alone with Skelky again, I'll find you Paz and I'll lock you up on a ship just like this and fly in loops for three standards weeks."

"Skelky is harmless," Paz snorted to her disdain as she flipped a switch for the landing gear. "You seem about his age. There's few enough Mandalorians, let alone dala." (Women)

"I'm not available," Ciri growled, touching ground and coasting the gunship to a stop. 

"Then say that."

"It'll turn into 100 questions afterward and I'm not in the mood for that," Ciri turned the ship off and spun around to cross her arms and glare at the large man. She knew the questions that would follow, because she'd watched it happen to the other female Mandalorian currently on the grounds; Blairn. Why aren't you available? Even if you aren't, you can always lay around! Don't you want to let off a little steam? 

Family was a big part of Mandalorian culture and many people, especially around her own age (which she assumed was close to 29 since she couldn't compare the months any long to earth days), wanted something to look forward to after the war. Ciri was still set on finding Din and trying to repair their relationship if he would have her. Part of her worried that he wouldn't. That he'd decline and spurn her, before she returned back to Concord Dawn with the void in her chest even larger. She missed them desperately, wanting to hold Grogu again and sing him the new songs she had learned from the ancient beskar and spirits. 

"You're rarely in the mood for anything other than flying. You brood. A lot," Paz informed her, getting up from his seat to grumble at the state of the ship. 

Brood? That made her smirk beneath her helmet. She did not brood. Or maybe she did, caught up in her thoughts quite often. Either way, her business was not really anyone else's. She'd told Paz because he had been in the same Tribe as Din and because he was Tarre's descendant. The others did not know as much about her as he did and as much as the man groused, he didn't betray her. 

"Whatever," she stood up, rubbing the aching small of her back, before trotting after him, helping scoop up some of the mess. Slinging her jetpack back on, she followed down the gangplank, visor adjusting to the bright daylight of the pallid plains of tall golden grain fronds. 

Inside the outpost, a few Mandalorians sat around a table with gal (ale) beside their helmets as they played cards. Heads turned to offer them greetings, Paz pausing to talk to them as Ciri continued further into the building to find Blairn. She found her new, female counterpart, in the computer room slaving over one of the screens.

"Any new transmissions or leads?" Ciri asked the woman as she plopped down into a nearby chair, pulling it up alongside her to take a look at what she was working on.

"A few, but I'm not certain of the authenticity of them," Blairn sighed, sitting back to glance at her with dark brown eyes. 

"What have you got?"

"One small lead on Tatooine. Another on Hoth-"

"Tatooine?" she rolled the name of the planet on her tongue, thinking vaguely of the bad experience she'd had there last time. But as she said it, the Force tickled her throat. "What's the lead out there?"

"Mos Pelgo or something, but I really don't know the substance behind this lead," Blairn crossed her arms. "Why?"

"I'll take it," she decided.

"The lead? You think Paz will even let you out of his sight?"

"Give me the lead. I'm going."

* * *

**Author break.**

You know what this sections means - more deets and pictures.

To me, Mandalorian culture has a lot of Viking similarities. Due to wearing a helmet, you have to have practical hair. So Ciri braids it away so that the rest of her hair falls down her back and the inside isn't getting all over her face. In addition, her new beskar soul beads look like this - [link](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/cd/26/1d/cd261df088c8677c238b74a9d3073df4.jpg)

Still using Daenerys' hair as inspiration, aside from the color difference, she would wear helmet tight braids like this - [link](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/91/ef/bb/91efbb03a5aafc34fb581a0a64ef196c.jpg) so she ain't looking a mess when she takes her helmet off.

The beads would be interlaced into the upper braids, a few would show beneath the cusp of her helmet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAYYYY ~ 
> 
> So anyways, without revealing anything, I want to point out that about a year has passed since Din and Ciri's separation. Which seems like a really long time, but since we're taking some non-canonical plot lines, I'm definitely dragging things out more to make the reunion even sweeter. Nor did I want Ciri to learn everything over night (and a year still seems like a really short time to me, but anything longer seems too long). I also wanted to bring in other Mandalorians and have her create contacts during her seclusion. 
> 
> Ok, my torture might be over soon. I swear...
> 
> Also I have big plans for Paz and another Mando OC (because we need smut with every hot masked mando) - but they'll be a side wave we get to ride, not detracting from Din & Ciri


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice long chapter for you!
> 
> Also smut ahead

_"It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be."_

* * *

The galaxy was darker than he remembered it, stepping back onto the Razor Crest with the kid in tow. Those big, bright eyes liquidy as he garbled softly, chewing on the ear of the toy that his guardian had bought for him. But mother wasn't there anymore. His heart had burned, conflicting emotions rising within him as he tried to rationalize what happened. The magic, he didn't really comprehend, but it scared him. His Cin'ciri had changed overnight and while her hair was only slightly darker and her eyes pale moons of what they had been - it was her words that took him aback, the Mando'a rolling off her tongue.

Those fears, that original biting anger that she would assume she could simply become Mandalorian, had faded. Instead it was replaced with a deep hole in the center of his chest. Grogu was difficult to take care of. He'd always had Ciri there watching him, playing with him, loving him. Din could keep him occupied and distracted, but there was only so much he could handle before feeling overwhelmed, because just like the child - he also hurt. In the form of crying, throwing toys, and spitting out food - Grogu made his disdain for their new arrangements clear. He did not fault the kid, he expected he wasn't a ray of sunshine to be around.

Where had she gone? 

He knew she would come back for Grogu eventually, give up this charade to try and be Mandalorian, and then Din would forgive her. But as the weeks bled into months, his anxiety climbed. Not only was he still evading the Guild, but now he wondered if he'd made a terrible, grievous mistake. Ciri did not know how to fly starships. If she was stranded somewhere, her lack of knowledge of the galaxy could get her killed. He had condemned her to that because he had been scared of her magic. 

_ I don't have anything. _

Not his words, but hers. What had been growing between them, he had thought was more than just a fling or a relationship of convenience. He had let his guard down around her, let her strong fingers work into his flesh, even listened to her trials back on earth. And yet, she had the audacity to claim that they were nothing. She'd rescinded it immediately, but it was too late by that point. Din had heard her claim that he was nothing. Just a shoulder to lean on when it was convenient for her.

And while he tried to be upset, to hate her for what she'd done, he only wished to see her face again, to have given a proper goodbye, or to have kissed her one final time. Reminded often of her benevolence, her warm grins, and her clucking. Both of them had parted on such a sour note that he couldn't help but blame himself for that one. Resentment, reproach, misery, and depression churned at his feet, pulling him toward a terrible abyss that helped aid in making the awful decision to try and stop the Imps on Nevarro.

Maybe he had a deathwish. But the state of mind he was in, wasn't good for the kid. Perhaps if some of the stress was taken off of him, he could set back into a rhythm and take up the gauntlet he'd had before the pair had stumbled into his life.

Nevarro had been just what Ciri had forewarned. Reinforcements rained down from the sky like hail and Din had miscalculated, getting Kuiil killed and nearly himself. Laying there, dying, he could have sworn he saw her holding his hand, calling him beloved in Mando'a while her blue eyes spilled tears. He rationalized it later, expecting he was seeing what he wanted to see, confirming that despite the months - he still wanted her back. But Han Solo would tell him nothing, giving him no leads, his hands empty and no tracking fobs bringing him anywhere remotely close to where she might be holed up. Additionally, with more natural hair and eyes, she didn't stick out enough that people would remember her, despite being incredibly comely.

Guild work kept him busy, focusing on repairing his ship and raising the kid. He knew she would return, but how long that would be was beyond his scope of knowledge. Each day was a challenge, but he pushed through it, hoping that by the end of this suffering, that they'd be reunited. A dark voice in his head said that day would never come, that she'd likely perished and only her bones waited. He tried not to think like this, but he kept thinking of her ignorance of the galaxy and what trouble she might unwittingly stumble into.

"No luck?" Cara offered a wry smile, sitting behind her new posting with the shiny marshal badge right before her. "You'd think someone with no idea about this galaxy would be a little easier to find."

Months had bled into a year, a numbness glazing him in regard to the whole situation. "Nothing," he admitted tartly. "Solo hasn't said anything?" Dune wrinkled her nose, having been cleared of her prior issue before leaving Coruscant, but her marshal appointment had come after cleaning up Nevarro.

"No, he won't answer my transmissions," Din groused, wondering what Solo had to gain from keeping him apart from Cin'ciri. Unless she had asked him to do so. Could she had been that upset? He didn't know her to be a very vindictive person, which was why he was surprised Solo had kept her secret for so long.

"Kriff... Well, I'm sorry Mando. I hope she's alright and turns up soon," Cara was earnest, even if what she had saw unsettled her as well. The Force was mysterious and they'd begun to accept that more after Grogu had healed Greef and saved them from the incinerator trooper.

"Me too," his voice was quiet, so quiet that she didn't hear him.

He set off again, heading back to Coruscant, but not the nicer threads that he'd occupied when with Ciri. Instead, he skulked amongst the lower tiers to find a lead. If she wanted to become Mandalorian, she'd need to find others. Gor Koresh was one of his least favorite types to deal with. He dealt with all kinds of scum, but Koresh was just as unsavory as the Hutts. Going to him was a gamble, quite literally, but Din had been idling for a while. Scraping up bounties and hauling them in with a repetitive and monotonous motion. 

There was no trusting the underworld scupper, but word on the street was that he knew where to find Mandalorians. Arid, musky streets that barely saw the light of day were patrolled by canine rodents, crimson eyes glinting like malicious Jawas from the shadows. And as expected, Goresh was more interested in his beskar than handing out information. But rather than please the Abyssian and oblige, Din strung him up and pried the information out from his warbling lips. 

Tatooine. Reminded duly of his last encounter there, the image of the Ciri's trembling legs as her dress rode up, her eyes closed as a blaster was pointed at her throat... He pressed his helmet against the controls, drawing a shaking breath as he shoved the memory out of his head. He doubted that it would be Ciri out on Tatooine. But at least it was a lead to finding more of his people and perhaps following a trail to link back up with her. She believed she had a higher cause amongst the Mandalorians due to her dreams, so why wouldn't she have found her way amongst them? She was a good enough diplomat to talk herself somewhere.

Tugging on his leg, the child glanced up with round eyes, seeming more chipper than usual. With a delighted squeal, he was picked up and placed on Din's knee. Placing a hand on top of the kid's head, he pressed a sigh out of his chest. "Hopefully this leads up somewhere," he told Grogu, starting up the Crest to leave Coruscant. 

"Cicicicicicici," he garbled, reaching up toward the stars, which had always entransed his mother. The kid had picked up a few words along the way, mostly in regards to food, but he often called for Ciri, calling her 'Ci'. 

"Probably not, kid," he didn't want to get the boy's hopes up, nor did he want to be as hopeful at this point. Charting the navigation to that dusty, awful planet, he set the ship into hyperdrive once they broke the atmosphere. "Uhg-" the toy in the child's arm was absolutely disgusting, having endured months of being gnawed on. "I need to wash this-"

Grogu screeched, refusing to let go of the Ewok doll. 

"You'll get sick if I don't wash it. We've been putting it off for a while now," Din chastised, lifting both child and doll, before heading down below.

"Cicicicici," he gobbled angrily.

"She's not here," he headed down the ladder, bringing the kid over to the wash basin. "Look, you can watch me wash it."

"Sog," Grogu demanded in exchange.

"I can't sing, you know this," he began filling up the cleaner with hot water and soap. This was a regular request that Din often heard from the belligerent child, almost as if one day Din would magically be able to belt out music.

"Sory."

"Story?" he might be able to oblige if he could think of one that was child approved. Grogu did not demand stories often, perhaps because Din didn't often talk in long tangents. "What about that one about the Beauty and the Beast? I... don't really recall the songs-" or the exact details to be precise. He remembered that there was an evil, broad black haired man named Gaston who wanted to marry Belle, that there was talking silverware - oh dear, he really didn't remember much other than the ending when the Beast showed his true face and they lived happily ever after.

Grogu relinquished the doll in exchange for the tale. 

Groaning internally as he began scrubbing the scruffy thing, he cleared his throat. "Once upon a time, there was a girl named Belle-" the details returned as if he were hearing them from the soft pink lips of Cin'ciri, though through his modulated helmet, he doubted he did it half as much justice as when she'd make the silly faces of each character. Setting the doll to dry, he told Grogu of how the villagers became frightened of there being a beast so near to their home that they wanted to slay it, despite Belle insisting that he was harmless. 

"No," Grogu squalled. "Noooooo!"

"What? What did I say wrong?" he'd probably forgotten something, a detail, and the child had known immediately.

"Best. Best sog."

The Beast's song. Honestly, amongst all the songs that he'd heard, this was one of the ones he'd never forgotten. Mostly, because he thought about the words often, having to let her go and sitting in the Razor Crest as if it were his lonely tower. "I can't sing, kid," he reminded him bleakly.

"Say."

"I think..." No, he knew, but he played it off as if by bad memory. "I was the one who had it all. I was the master of my fate. I never needed anybody in my life. I learned the truth too late-" Saying them made it feel more true, each sentence lancing into his chest like a spear trying to prod through completely. "I-" the kid's big eyes were watching him. "I'll never shake away the pain. I close my eyes but she's still there. I let her steal into my melancholy heart. It's more than I can bear-" At that point, it was more than he could bear. "That's all I remember kid, sorry." But it was a lie, Din just didn't want to continue at this point.

But the rest of the song listed lazily through his mind, as he waited evermore. Handing the clean doll back over to Grogu, he forgot about continuing the story and the kid did too, now that he was reunited with the toy that she'd bought him. 

Hangar 3-5 waited almost expectantly for him. Peli Motto spluttered out of her office, eyes lighting up as she laid eyes on him. But immediately following, her brows furrowed as she spotted him and Grogu, but not her. "Hey, get away from his ship. You know he doesn't like droids," she scolded her DUM pit droids, who scampered away before he could reprimand them with a blaster shot.

"Ah, the Crest could use a good one-over," Din admitted to her chagrin.

"Oh, ok, he likes droids now. So go ahead-" she waved her hand, letting them go back forward before sauntering up. "Hey there bright eyes... where's your girl?" she greeted Grogu before glancing up toward his visor. 

"I'm looking for her," Din admitted.

"You _lost_ her?" Peli looked astonished, as if it were unfathomable that the best bounty hunter in the galaxy could misplace anything. He was also just as surprised.

"No," Din corrected carefully. "We separated for a while. She had... things to resolve."

"And then you lost her," Peli gleaned impishly.

"No-" he sighed heavily, just as the coils of his ship spilled out like intestines, the droids flailing around.

"Hey! Be careful! He gave you a chance and now you're going to blow it. He already distrusts droids," she sniffed indignantly at the pit droids. "So what brings you back round here? I haven't seen her and trust me, I'd know if I saw someone as different as her."

"She doesn't look like that anymore. Her hair is blonde and eyes blue now," Din corrected lightly, hoping that maybe she might have seen someone of that description. "But I doubt she would have returned to Tatooine on her own. I'm here on other business. I'm looking for a city called Mos Pelgo. Never heard of it and I've been across Tatooine."

"What you looking for in Mos Pelgo?" Peli inquired.

He didn't see why he couldn't tell her. "Another Mandalorian."

"Mandalorian?" she pursed her lips. "Haven't seen any like you, sorry... Why're you looking for other Mandalorians?"

She had a lot of questions. "I'm hoping to network through the coverts to find her," he answered simply. 

"Ah. Well, you're the first I've seen in years. Come over this way, I've got an astromech who might be able to help you find where you're going," she motioned for him to follow her into her office. An R5 series was waiting, to which she had pulled up a hologram of Tatooine. Slipping her fingers over the scans, she zoomed in and showed a blank spot in the Dune Sea. "So, Mos Pelgo used to be an old mining settlement before the war. However, not much is there anymore. Doesn't even make itself on the maps anymore."

Focusing his eyes on where she was gesturing, he nodded slowly. "I'll head out that way. Hopefully, there's some small remains of a town so I can get an idea why a Mandalorian was sighted out there."

"If someone is out there, they're hiding. Can't expect a better reason for a Mandalorian to be out there," Peli pointed out. "I suggest you take a speeder bike out there. People will spot your ship from far away and then you'd have to deal with keeping Jawas away. Better to leave it here. You could leave bright eyes with me too."

Din glanced down at the kid in his bag. "No, he's coming with me..." He wasn't too fond on having a repeat instance of Arvala-7, but smarted Motto either way, "Does it really matter if I fly out there or are you only insisting so I have to pay hangar fees?"

Peli tried to look affronted by his accusation. "Fine, if you want your ship looted by the little assholes, be my guest. I was only looking out for you, Mando."

"Have you got a speeder?"

Motto lended him her Zephyr-J speeder bike, sending him off on his journey across the Dune Sea. The sun billeted him, toasting his stiff shoulders beneath his armorweave and beskar. He'd been stiff for a long time, without the access to his medic's tender and soothing massages. Part of that tension was also due to the general lack of lust for life, hunching over and falling into his thoughts more than he ought to. 

Sandy, dry, arid, and whipping wind. Ah, the luxuries of Tatooine. Somehow, even when he was covered head to toe in cloth and armor, the sand managed to find the tiniest sliver of skin to attach to and grind him raw. This time it was just underneath his chin where the edge of his shirt's high collar met his helmet - the same spot that Ciri had pulled down to kiss his exposed neck. Grumbling, he itched the spot, trying to utilize the cool night to continue his journey without the sun baking him.

A ship would have been much faster, but along the way, he encountered Tusken Raiders who invited him to share their fire. They spoke of the lack of water further north, having to rely on black melons more this year that prior. They were curious about the child, but wary of upsetting Din. His knowledge of their language and culture allowed for him to pass by unscathed and as a guest. Rising early the next day, he pressed further across the sandy landscape, escaping the dunes to coast along flat, cracked plains. 

Not much of an upgrade aside from the fact that the ground didn't slide beneath his boots. No, each landscape, be that rocky plateaus or plains had their own drawbacks. Just as the Raiders had warned, water was scarce in this region and Din knew he'd be paying premium credits to get any if he crossed a settlement. Checking his holomap a few times, he hoped to find a city cresting amongst the taupe flats, but was not so lucky.

Part of him thought it'd be a bust, that the town had sunk into the sands with the war. But he was pleasantly surprised to see a small town still remained where Mos Pelgo was marked. Grey huts, nervous villagers in earth toned cloth, and a few moisture farms and shaggy banthas. Drawing to the cantina, the doors open for the afternoon, he unsaddled from the speeder, Grogu popping the top open to glance around with intrigue, clucking to his Ewok doll as if to introduce it to the new place.

The establishment was round, based around a circular bar where a leathery alien proprietor stood behind the counter. His skin was a molted brown, long braids extending from the base of his head, the only hair on his winkled head. He was Weequay, an alien race that Din saw rarely, but had the luxury of bringing in a couple of times for bounties in the past. No one else was inside, which given the time of day, made sense. A small town like this, people would be around their farms, getting work done while they could see clearly. Come nighttime, the locals would probably shuffle right in.

"I'm looking for someone," Din directed his words to the only other person in the room. 

"What's the person look like?" the Weequay was clearly wary, a Mandalorian standing in front of him in full beskar, his voice gritting out of the vocoder deep and hard. 

"They would look like me."

"Oh, you probably mean the Marshal," the bartender acknowledged, jerking his head in the direction of the doorway.

Din turned his visor, eyes sliding up and down the silhouette of a man in faded green painted beskar'gam. Bright crimson fabric tugged beneath around the neck and the man trotted forward, his shadow shortening as he padded forward. What he was wearing was not armorweave. Narrowing his eyes, Din tried to set aside the small notice for details. "You are the Mandalorian I have been searching for for many parsecs."

"Really now?" the man speculated, turning to the bar. "Two snorts of spotchka." Without so much as a question, two glasses were filled with the glowing blue booze and were snatched up by the other Mandalorian. "Take a seat. Strange, I've seen two Mandalorians in a day now. I should go to Canto Blight and try my luck at the tables."

Din sat a table, brows furrowing at the statement. "Two?" he echoed, watching in horror as the Mandalorian joined him and removed his helmet. Sitting in front of him was a man with silver brown hair, parted over the side and astonishingly neat and well groomed for someone wearing a helmet in Tatooine's sweltering heat. 

"Never met a real Mandalorian til today. Other one though, she looked a bit different than you," he picked up his spotchka and took a deep sip. "Heard quite a bit about your notorious ability to kill. Not that the other Mando would tell me much about it."

Din was reaching for his blaster, blood pounding in his ears, but the fact that this man had seen another Mandalorian just earlier in the day... "You're not Mandalorian."

"No, I'm not. Name's Cobb Vanth. I'm the protector and marshal of Freetown. I figure you're a bit upset that I'm wearing this. So was the other Mando, said that she'd buy it off of me," Vanth admitted, his eyes flitting down to Grogu who was staring ominously toward the door with big, wide eyes. "Oh, speakin' of another Mando."

Din's hand brushed the hilt of his blaster, grinding his teeth to glance in the direction of the doorframe. Standing against the glistening sunlight was a short Mandalorian in finely crafted blue-silver beskar that was not painted. Framing her shoulders was a thick white fur cloak, flecked by pale spots and a ridge of collapsed spines. Almost in an arrogant manner, the female leaned against the frame, his eyes catching the medical cross on her pauldrons, the copper black Y-visor setting on him.

"Cicicicicici!" the kid writhed in the bag, trying to pull himself out of the bag to approach the strange Mandalorian. 

Trotting forward, he saw the woman's hair swing behind her, a silky ashe blonde tumble controlled in braids at the back of her head, thick beskar beads barely visible just beneath the hem of the helmet, a single long white speckled feather falling down from one of the beads and tangling in her hair. Controlling the kid before he could run over to this Mandalorian, his brows pulled together and his chest burned slightly at the child's insinuation. 

"Put your hand down, Mando. Shooting him and ripping the armor off his corpse isn't a very Mandalorian thing to do," the modulator distorted her voice, but he recognized the mellow soprano immediately, losing grasp on Grogu as he plopped out of the bag and sprinted as fast as his little legs would carry him. He launched himself at her, colliding with tall black boots. 

Chuckling, the Mandalorian bent down, and cocked him against her hip, framed by a belt with strange grenades and pouches. 

"Hi, cyar'ika. Ooh, I've missed you so much!" (darling) it was strange to hear the warmth of her voice through the modulator and not see her smile. 

Grogu planted his claws against the helmet, gibbering quietly as if to tell her how awful the past year had been without her there. He glanced back, big brown eyes entreating Din, who was shocked into silence as he stared at Cin'ciri. She was there. In full beskar. With an entire kit dedicated to being a medic. He could tell from the larger size of her jetpack, the lack of any weapon aside from a blaster, and the strange settings on her vambraces. 

"You two know each other?" Vanth glanced between them, eying where Din's fingers had tightened on the edge of the table, knuckles white beneath his gloves.

"Sorta," Ciri teased, her voice sending a shiver from his chest down to his toes, creasing heat against the back of his neck. She had insisted that she would become Mandalorian and here she stood. "Right?" her helmet turned toward him, obviously making an attempt to poke the bear.

Din licked his lips, losing his train of thought with Cobb Vanth, as he tried to decide what the hell he was going to do. "Where... where did you get the armor?" he tore his eyes away from her as she played with the kid, glaring back at the marshal.

"Bought it off some Jawas," Vanth took another sip of his spotchka, seemingly unbothered by being sat between two Mandalorians who knew each other.

"Hand it over," Din demanded.

"Mando," Ciri lifted her head, a warning err in the edge of her tone. "He purchased it fairly. I've already been discussing terms with the marshal in order to return it to our people."

Our people. Scorn filled his mouth, but died on the back of his throat. Who had crafted that armor aside from a Mandalorian? No one would have just given it to her and from the appearance of her cloak, he knew that it must've been the pelt of a hunt. The armor fit her perfectly. This was not something she had stumbled upon and donned. In fact, the color of the steel was the same hue as her eyes. Whoever had crafted this had put a lot of thought, measuring her frame perfectly before outfitting her in an ensemble that would protect the medic. 

"Look, your friend is right. Now, are we really going to devolve and break out into a fight right in front of the kid?" Vanth leaned back, giving a weary glance toward the blaster that Din was thumbing.

"He's seen worse," he snarled, his temper flaring in tandem with other emotions. "Take it off."

Ciri shifted at those words, padding forward and slam her free palm on the table so hard that the drinks teetered. Her helmet tilted between them, sliding over to him last before pinning an obvious glare. "Cut it out. The both of you. We can come to an arrangement without any bloodshed," she snapped, her voice powerful and clear. 

"You're not going to walk right in and give me orders, Aruetii," (outsider) Din roared at her, the kid trembling at his words, ears tucking in as he tried to hide his face in the crook of her arm.

Ciri became stiff before a soft sigh hissed through her vocoder. "Excuse me, could you hold him for a second?" she entreated Cobb, passing Grogu over to the marshal before he could answer. The man fumbled, uncertain with what to do with the alien child.

She punched Din in the face, knocking his chair flat against the floor. He blinked stars away from his vision, just in time to feel her grip the collar of his cloak, bending over him. "K'ni meg tug'yc bal ni mav vaabir dush'shya," (Call me that again and I'll do worse) she warned, in a low and dangerous voice that sent a thrilling shiver down his spine. 

"Cuyir ulyc meg gar oritsir, ni ret sa bic," (Be careful what you promise, I may like it) he snarked back, lashing out and grabbing her forearm, twisting and throwing her down to the ground beside him. But unlike their tusseling back on the Crest, she rolled nimbly and lashed out with a kick, sending a painful lance up his calf as she mounted him and raised her fist again.

But before either of them could react the ground began to tremble, the klaxons blaring in the town, as the bottles behind the bar jingled together. She rescinded her blow and stood up, sparing one glance down at him. "Shebs'palon." (Asshole)

Din wanted to rub his head, but resigned to following her and Vanth out to the doorway. Was there a sandstorm coming? No, the sky on the horizon was clear, villagers panicking to get up to the safety of their home platforms. Many of them tucked into their huts, watching from the shutters as the sand billowed like ocean waves; something was coming. The lolling form of a massive creature slithered toward a yawning bantha, who gave a nervous whine before a massive maw distended from the ground and swallowed the bantha whole. 

Grogu squealed, now back in Ciri's arms, as the krayt dragon disappeared back beneath the sand as if it were the surface of water. Once the sand was no longer being disturbed, the villagers nervously began to pick their way out to begin cleaning up the wrecked water trough where the bantha had once been. 

"Looks like we might be able to work something out," Vanth grimaced, looking between the pair of Mandalorians. "If the two of you have got that out of your system... although we've got a room upstairs if you'd like to continue."

"Tell us about the creature," Ciri brushed by the both of them, sitting down at the table as she bounced Grogu on her knee. 

Vanth glanced from her and then to Din warily, but sat back down and started drinking again. "Thing has been here since before Freetown was established. It's a krayt dragon. Wheels through her, causing havoc, breaking things, eating our livestock."

"And you've been using the armor to defend the village?" Ciri deduced evenly.

"Not from the dragon," Vanth revealed. "But from bandits and the Sand People. The krayt dragon is too much for me to take on alone. Look-" entreating the both of them. "I'll give you back the armor in exchange for slaying it."

Din's head still ached from the force of her punch, wondering if she'd imbibed it with magic to really give him something to think about. Perhaps he'd deserved it, but he was still trying to consider how he felt about the reunion. He had wanted it so badly, but he'd also been expecting to see her without any beskar - not in full regal. "Fine. I could blow it out of the sky with my ship while we use a bantha as bait."

"I've got my starfighter here," Ciri offered.

"Your-" he craned his head to stare at her. "When did you learn to fly?"

"I've learned a lot of things since I last saw you," she answered glibly. 

"Won't work," Vanth shook his head. "The dragon can sense vibrations that are created by starships and can hide underground. Won't surface with anything flying nearby."

Unwilling to let Vanth keep the armor, he gleaned that from Cobb's depiction of meeting Ciri, that she was also intent of returning it to the right hands.

"I can lead the both of you to where the krayt dragon lives. It's not too far, but it'll take the better part of a day," Cobb leaned back and observed them with a smug smile. "I'd say the two of you have a bit of catching up to do. I'd prefer not to hear nagging the entire way. We can part with one of the rooms upstairs to that you two can have a private moment."

"Very well," Ciri agreed before Din could shoot Vanth down just to spite her. "We do have a few things to discuss. Tomorrow at dawn sound like an appropriate time to rally for the ride?"

"Works for me," Vanth agreed. 

"Wonderful," she stood up. "Now, I wouldn't mind retiring now if that's quite alright."

"Shouldn't be, we don't get many visitors," Cobb glanced toward the barkeep who had been listening on quietly. "Mind showing the fine, Mandalorian lady to one of the rooms?"

Din grit his teeth slightly, disliking the casual tone in which the man addressed Cin'ciri with and reminded himself that he'd just been a dick to her. Watching her and the kid tuck away upstairs after the Weequay, he glared at the slightly spilled snort of spotchka on the table. 

"She an old flame?" Vanth guessed.

"No," he didn't have to answer this man. 

"Ah, just assumed from the tension..." Vanth shrugged. "Well, best of luck. Women are impossible to deal with when they're angry. I can only imagine it's twice as worse when they're Mandalorian. Least, most women you don't have to worry about a good right hook to the jaw."

Din was going to need all the luck in the galaxy. Pushing himself up to his feet, he trailed across the bar, up the stairs, passing the Weequay who muttered about the last room on the left, and found the door. Pausing, he drew in a deep and slightly calming breath. What was he going to say? What was he going to do? What had happened to her over the last year? 

He opened the door, finding her sitting on the bed with the kid. Her helmet was off, set on the table as she crooned over him. 

"I knew it," Din snarled, watching as her astonished face turned toward him. His heartstrings tugged, immediately noticing the scars that lined her once flawless skin. But in spite of it, he thought strangely of the character the scars brought to her face. 

"Excuse me?" her voice hitched. 

"You're not Mandalorian. You would not have removed your helmet if you were. When you swear the Creed-"

"Stop it," she interrupted. "Not every Mandalorian follows the same Creed as you. In fact, the number of Mandalorians that do not take off their helmets is scant when compared to the majority."

"How would you know that?" he took a few menacing steps toward her. 

"Because I was with them on Concord Dawn for the past few months," she answered tartly. "Along with an old acquaintance of yours, Paz Vizsla."

"Paz..." he breathed, recalling the last he'd seen of the Vizsla had been when he and the rest of the Tribe had come to the surface to help the three of them escape. Ciri had been unconscious during the entire exchange. 

Her lips twisted, highlighting the scar along her upper lip. "Yes, Din. I met Paz. Annoyed the holy hell out of him. I met several other Mandalorians as well. They all remove their helmets outside of battle. However, this is the first time I've removed mine since donning it a year ago. I was waiting until I found the two of you."

Din was still highly irritated, startled by her insinuation that Mandalorians removed their helmets around other people. Perhaps around only other Mandalorians, but it was difficult to believe her. Trailing toward her cautiously, he pulled off his glove. "Show me," he demanded. He knew she couldn't lie through those images.

"Very well," she agreed, pulling off her own glove, sliding a calloused hand over his.

A slideshow of memories slid in front of him, beginning with her landing on Krownest and the finding of Ka'ra. The Force allowed her passage into the ancient temple built by Tarre Vizsla. Din could see the legendary Mandalorian of old, talking to her as a spirit, teaching her things in her dreams, a spectral blacksmith hunching over a forge with her. He was watching her training, the learning of how to create armor, to craft her own armor. 

The songs of the past that lilted in her ears like lullabies and the tales she learned from Mandalorians in armor so old that Din marveled at the difference between the styles then and now. The beads in her hair were an homage to the forgotten, to mark their sacrifices as their armor had remained deep within Ka'ra waiting to be discovered and read. She had learned the history of Mandalore through the lips of those that had lived through the earliest ages and in turn, Din was given scraps of the information as he listened carefully to what she showed him. 

Her first hunt followed after the torture of seeing a vision when he'd been dying on Nevarro. His heart twinged with realization as she tried desperately to reach out to him with the Force, the visage he'd seen quavering in front of him that day - not a figment of his imagination. She had been there, watching, toiling, and secluded on Krownest with no ability to escape the planet to find him. When she awoke, Tarre Vizsla insisted that she go on her first hunt to clear her mind and prove her worth. The beast which she tracked was what the paper white pelt she wore was, an impressive feline predator that had scored her with the scars she now wore proudly. 

There were other hunts, more learning, more toiling in the forge as she burned her fingertips, scalded her palms, and was reprimanded whilst only speaking Mando'a. Between that were snippets of fighting, learning hand to hand combat, and falling... quite a few times under the impressive shadow of Commander Vizsla. In her dreamscape, he was able to touch her as if he were breathing and alive, whereas in Ka'ra he was a spectral entity that could rarely so much as make her hair move on wind. His original confusion faded, replaced with a deep seated despair. He'd not understood any of this originally, but now that he watched it through her eyes, he knew she'd not been lying. Cin'ciri had been chosen as Tarre Vizsla's champion and he'd spat at her for affronting the Mandalorian way. Of course, at first she hadn't understood, only having her dreams and vision as a basis. Ciri was still terribly naive in the way of the galaxy. At least, until she'd undergone her training in Ka'ra.

He'd spurned her without so much as asking for proof, forgetting in the heat of his fury that she could have shown him her dream. Even yet, he didn't know if he would have believed a dream if not for the slew of memories that he now sifted across. Lonely. So lonely. Despite being amongst the spirits, she was alone and in great fear that one day she might count him amongst the glowing eyes in the darkness.

She found a Mandalorian by the name of Tristan Wren, healing him with her hands in the same way that Grogu had done with Greef Karga. Over the years, he'd become impressed with her improvement in her stamina when it came to magic and this amazement grew as she healed the head trauma - similar to his own due to concussive knock back from an explosion - and was able to shoulder the weight of a much larger man and drag him all the way back to Ka'ra. The Resol'nare. Ciri was living by it amongst her time in the mountain, proving again that he'd misjudged her and been wrong. 

The Empire was sniffing around, putting a count on her days as she lurked amongst the white, pure and untouched landscape just at her doorstep. A white field; a new slate. A place to leave Emma Mars behind and to become a Mandalorian - to walk a new path and to have purpose. He shouldn't have faulted her for that. While the only purpose he wanted her to serve was to remain alongside him, he knew that wasn't fair to ask. Ciri had experience under her belt, a great deal of it, now punctuated by the intense training on Krownest. She had a right to have ambitions of her own, especially since she was more learned and slid into a niche that had been beckoning toward her like a lurid lover. She was meant to be Mandalorian.

Din hadn't gotten along with her because it had been forced. Her military training, her mannerisms, in tandem with her persistence and ability to play well with others even if her mouth was too smart for her own good had enticed him. She'd understood flanking maneuvers, her place on the front line, and vehemently refused to let anyone suffer while under her sharp gaze. Just on Arvala-7 she'd saved him from being trampled, despite the fact that he was returning her to the Empire. He'd felt comfortable giving her a Mandalorian name because of how similar she was to his own people. The armor and language was just another stepping stone, a right of passage to bridge the gap. He had been afraid of what he did not understand and now he saw with blistering clarity.

Wren returned with Paz Vizsla, a welcome sight to Din even if the man had made an attempt to remove his helmet. Paz's own terse words had been part of the reason he'd been unable to leave Ciri and Grogu behind. The beskar felt like blood money at that point. She told Paz who she was and the heavy gunner astonished him by being incredibly accepting of the path she walked - the citing of his ancestor swaying him more to her cause. Poking at him as if with the trident at the end of his rifle, Din understood that others would readily accept her. She was a smith, perhaps one of the only two left in existence, and the forge on Krownest was hidden. Who knew how long the one on Nevarro might avoid scrutiny, though with the New Republic forces on the outpost, there was more hope that it would be preserved. The one on Krownest could only be accessed by a Force-wielder and it was much closer to Mandalore. The strategic position was undeniable and waiting inside were the many beskar bars that she had melted and cast to be used at a later time.

She departed with Paz, unwilling to endanger the forge any longer with her lingering presence, unaware of what had happened following Nevarro. Moff Gideon was dead, but even so, there might be another Imperial officer preparing to slide up and take the reins. This might take time, but the Imps were still out there and sniffing around Krownest. On Concord Dawn, Ciri's proclamation had been correct. Amongst the throng of Mandalorian warriors, only she and Paz refused to remove their helmets in the company of others and they were scrutinized for it. Din was uncertain of how this made him feel, looking amongst the faces of fellows, when he'd been told that this was not the way. Paz was unfazed by it, but retained his own helmet and vows. There, she learned how to fly a starship and as she'd pointed out - annoyed the holy hell out of Vizsla with her shenanigans and reckless flying. He sensed her confidence, but duly noted that she'd never be allowed to fly the Crest.

It was then that Din Djarin reminded himself that she'd never once lied to him since they had met. He'd done her a disservice by handling her original proclamation so poorly. Breaking out of the memories, he drew a sharp intake of breath and glanced over at Grogu who was playing with the end of her hair on the bed. "N'eparavu takisit," (Sorry; I eat my insult) he muttered, squeezing her hand with newfound comprehension.

"We both were a bit emotional," she admitted with a wry smile, still the same forgiving woman he remembered. "I don't blame you for how you reacted. I probably sounded a bit crazy... but when I chose to follow Tarre Vizsla, I turned my back on the Jedi way. I was afraid of what that meant. I had spurned becoming Jedi to become Mandalorian and seeing how you reacted-"

Din flinched beneath his helmet. Her words of regret, the fear on her face when he'd yelled at her, denying that she could ever become Mandalorian... Telling her that her name was nothing but a nickname. He might not have been as upfront as saying he had nothing, but those words had rattled her to her core, especially after the evening they'd shared prior. She had been forced to make a decision and she chose him only for him to lash out in confusion.

"Your magic doesn't make much sense," he groused, watching as her lips pulled up even more. "Cin vhetin..." (fresh start) he acknowledged with weight this time. "I only hope that what happened before isn't forgotten." Typically those words meant a completely new life, admonishing what had happened before donning the helmet.

"I wouldn't be here otherwise," she smiled, the same benevolence he had missed so desperately returning to her face. She was the same, perhaps a bit rougher around the edges, but this was Cin'ciri. Gazing at her, the hue of her hair and eyes, the colors were more natural and suiting to her complexion. There was no youthful girlishness about her, the original doubt he'd had back on Arvala-7 about her being 27. Well, she wasn't quite 27 any longer, but she had that telltale look on her face - the look of someone who'd endured a lot and had made it out with a wicked smile on her face and took the experiences as another notch on her belt. 

He gripped her hand, pulling her toward him, encircling her. This was different, their beskar heartplates singing lightly as they met and the yielding softness he once recalled replaced with the rigidity of her armor, his fingers tracing the line behind her shoulder blades, new muscles taut against his gloves. A deep hum warmed the back of his throat, content to have her back in his arms. Even if there was armor, the medic was still beneath it all and she was his. 

"How's your head? I didn't pull my blow earlier," she inquired, of course worrying about him during their tender moment, grey-blue eyes listing up toward him. Her clucking made him laugh.

"I'm fine," he insisted, though his neck ached a bit. "Your hand should hurt considerably more," he pointed out, her fist having connected with the beskar.

"I padded it with the Force," she admitted with a doleful smile. "I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have hit you." For someone who mostly acted in self defense, she had given him a pretty strong hook.

"It wasn't uncalled for," Din grinned, thinking lightly of the controlled manner in which she'd handed the kid off before striking him. There was something highly attractive about the underlying fury that had moved her with well-trained expertise. Even if his neck ached, it certainly was a reunion to remember. Tracing the scar against her lip with a gloved finger, he thought about kissing it, feeling the groove beneath his mouth. Washing over him like a torrent, the depraved thoughts that he'd suffered since their separation, threatened to overwhelm him in a moment.  _ Copyc  _ \- the word popped into his head, the term for attractive in Mando'a. But it did not mean simply comeliness or superficial beauty. No, it was deeper than that, a general attractiveness, more appealing in the way that she was Mandalorian. While he’d been taken with her beauty before, being soft and weak was not an attractive trait amongst Mandalorians. She had never been weak, but as she stood there now, he found an even deeper attraction to her as she wore the beskar'gam.

"You'll have to pay me back later," she teased, a huff pushing through his vocoder at the suggestion. Moving his hand down from her waist, over the curve of her belt, he gripped her ass, making her yelp slightly. " _ Later _ ," she repeated with more insistence, giving him a dirty look with little depth. "I owe him an explanation just as much as you." Ciri glanced back at Grogu, who was staring on with big, happy eyes. "Go relax in the 'fresher. God knows you could probably use a nice break. I'll look after him."

He didn't want to let her go, the absurd thought passing his mind that if he did she might go away again. But she was right. Grogu deserved just as much attention as him and the kid had been heartbroken at her disappearance. Now, he was ogling her with reverence and adoration, waiting patiently while his parents reunited after the bout in the cantina. Releasing her after another possessive squeeze, he glanced at the beskar'gam again, amazed by the craftsmanship of it. She'd not painted it, but it had a beautiful blue glean to it, drinking in the hue of her eyes to make them look darker. Her intricate beaded braids swung behind her as she plopped back down on the bed and bent down to speak to Grogu, who was not miffed in the slightest by her appearance change. The kid had known it was her from the beginning and he wondered if the little green gremlin had been anticipating her arrival, having been gurgling about her back on the Crest before they arrived on Tatooine. The Force. He tried not to snort at how unpredictable and strange the magic was.

Relinquishing to the washroom, he was more than obliged to take a break from watching the kid to take care of himself. Admittedly, he had slacked in the department of grooming his hair and it was a bit longer than he preferred. Rubbing his face, staring into the mirror, he drew his vibro-blade and began shearing off the long mess of dark hair, cutting it to the nape of his neck and cleaning up the unruly facial hair. There was sand still chafing where his armorweave met his helmet and he washed it away. Thoughts played in his mind idly as he trimmed his fingernails and other regions that needed attention. She was Mandalorian and she'd sworn her Creed only to remove her helmet in front of him and the kid.

The implication was blatant that she had thought herself as part of the clan, but hadn't broached the subject, perhaps wondering if their reunion would go over well. Din had no doubt in his mind that he wanted her back, to turn his clan of two into three as it had been before. Now he had a sigil and fortunately she had the hands and capability to pair it beside the medical crosses on her pauldrons. 

He rubbed himself raw in the shower, making certain that any filth or dirt that might be clinging to his skin was gone. Enjoying the peace of not having to worry about Grogu crying while he had a moment to himself. He wanted to go out and join them, but also reveled in the moment of self care, imagining what he might do to her when the kid had tucked in for the night. The Resol'nare - thinking of how they could raise Mandalorian children together in the same manner he'd once described to her up in the cockpit of the Crest. He'd imagined children with her before, but now it felt more substantial and real. Thinking of her belly swelling with his child, curious on how they might look when they were born.

_ Any child of hers will be gorgeous, _ he thought, hoping that the children would get her nose and facial structure. Or her ashy hair, striped with streaks of pale gold, dusty blonde, and platinum. It was strange to think how lovely he'd found the white hair, devoid of any color, only to find himself fonder of the various hues that mixed into her natural blonde locks. A blank canvas waiting to be painted and she'd chosen him over the mysteries of the Jedi; now she was beskar, forge fire, and gunmetal. 

Replacing his attire, he donned his trousers, undershirt, and socks, bundling up his beskar neatly along with his weapons. He had no intention of putting it back on when he could lay beside her for the evening and had promised that he wouldn't torture her again with the beskar. However, whether or not she'd return the favor had yet to be decided. 

Right where he'd left them, the two were engaged in a silent conversation. Grogu was absolutely delighted, expression shifting as their words floated in a plane that Din couldn't fathom.. He wondered what she was showing him. Probably not the entirety that she had displayed to Din, which might be too strong emotion-wise, including the images of him suffering on Nevarro. He took the time to arrange his beskar on the table, taking a polishing cloth to it, leaving them to their conversation. His eyes stole up a few times, tracing their silhouettes before returning to his busy work. 

The hole he'd felt in his chest was warm, as if he'd drank a strong drink or hot beverage. For an infamous bounty hunter, he'd failed to locate her, only to be surprised on a lead to find her waiting. He wondered if she had intentionally located him or if this had all been by chance. Either way, he couldn't be more pleased with the outcome. Almost forgetting entirely that they had a krayt dragon to deal with in the face of his happiness. When they roused, he'd all but finished shining his beskar, lifting his head to glance over as Grogu gurgled and shoved his doll in front of him.

"Can't believe you still have this thing," she chuckled, picking up the Ewok to take a better look at its face, which was slightly misshapen with the child's incessant love of it. "Comes back around, doesn't it? Tatooine-" her smiles twisted in an amused smirk. "-such a wonderful, dustball, hot, sand everywhere it's not supposed to be, planet." She was being sarcastic, but the kid didn't seem to know better, hanging on to every word that came out of her pretty mouth.

For such an unpleasant place, it held both memories he didn't want to revisit and now one that he'd cherish. "Do you want to wash up?" Din offered, as she'd entertained the little monster for a couple of hours now. He'd taken note of her words about the sand being everywhere, reminiscing how he had once caught her wiping the sand off between her legs on the Crest and how off guard he'd been seeing the skirt hiked up around her fair legs. So many memories. She'd teased him back then too.

"Let me put him down first and then I'll clean up, like I said-" she turned back to Grogu. "Sand everywhere it's not supposed to be. Astonishing given the fact that I'm covered head to toe and it still manages to get me..." Pausing she glanced over at him. "Is there some sort of secret that I'm missing? I never had this issue on Krownest and it was colder than Jack Frost's tit."

"Who?" he inquired, uncertain of who Jack Frost was.

"Uh, earthling reference," she laughed, blush tickling her cheekbones slightly. 

"The sand is very fine here," Din admitted. "Where did you manage to get it?"

"Boots, little around the collar of my kute," (under armour; the body suit worn beneath beskar) she admitted, itching the high neckline. "And you know, once it's in your boots, it might as well be in the rest of your pants."

All it took was a small entrance and the sand would slide down and coat your sweat slick skin, he knew all too well. "Perhaps tomorrow I can make certain you don't leave any gaps in your kute."

She gave him a mocking scoff. "You say that as if it's going to come off tonight," she retorted with girlish coyness, though he knew she was being playful. "We do have some things we need to review before dawn. Including what in heaven's name a krayt dragon is."

Ah, he'd forgotten that she didn't have much experience with Tatooine's fauna. What she'd witnessed down below was her first bit of exposure. "If we have time," he grinned wickedly.

"If we have-" she blinked slowly at him, but whisked up Grogu, who let out a trilling giggle as she spun him around in the air. He watched, the cloak billowing behind her, the feather in her hair fluttering. "Gar ganar dush buir," (you have a naughty father) she informed Grogu with a mischievous smile. 

Originally, he'd been unsettled when she had first spoken Mando'a that he had not taught her. Hearing it fluent on her tongue made him shiver pleasantly, the words rolling off the back of her throat naturally. Given she'd been forced to learn it during her training, being scolded for being too slow, she'd had no other choice but to adapt as swiftly as possible. She knew more about Mandalorian history than Din did, the stories of the forgotten marked upon the beads in her hair. A thoughtful and honorable thing she had done, preserving their tales in hope of recording the details or passing the stories on to the clans of descendants - if they still existed. 

Humming lightly she decided on a song before padding lightly around the room, her hair swinging between her shoulder blades. 

"Come stop your crying

It will be alright

Just take my hand

Hold it tight

I will protect you

From all around you

I will be here

Don't you cry

For one so small,

You seem so strong

My arms will hold you,

Keep you safe and warm

This bond between us

Can't be broken

I will be here

Don't you cry

'Cause you'll be in my heart

Yes, you'll be in my heart

From this day on

Now and forever more

You'll be in my heart

No matter what they say

You'll be here in my heart always

Why can't they understand the way we feel?

They just don't trust what they can't explain

I know we're different but deep inside us

We're not that different at all

And you'll be in my heart

Yes, you'll be in my heart

From this day on

Now and forever more

Don't listen to them

'Cause what do they know (what do they know)?

We need each other

To have, to hold.

They'll see in time

I know

When destiny calls you

You must be strong (you gotta be strong)

I may not be with you

But you've got to hold on

They'll see in time

I know

We'll show them together

'Cause you'll be in my heart

Believe me, you'll be in my heart

I'll be there from this day on,

Now and forever more

Oh, you'll be in my heart (you'll be here in my heart)

No matter what they say (I'll be with you)

You'll be here in my heart (I'll be there) always

Always

I'll be with you

I'll be there for you always

Always and always

Just look over your shoulder

Just look over your shoulder

Just look over your shoulder

I'll be there always."

It was a rather upbeat, but warming song to sing to the kid if she wanted him to go down, but perhaps it wasn't intended to be a lullaby. Instead, she nuzzled her face toward his, eliciting a delighted giggle. For the first time, Ciri didn't mind singing in front of Din. Reaching up, the child brushed her face, touching some of the scars that stretched beneath her eye, gurgling. "Cici."

"Oh, you're talking now?" she grinned. "Buir. Call me buir." (Mother/Father)

"Boo."

"Close enough," she tapped his nose gently. "We'll work on your Mando'a. You'll have a lot more time to learn it naturally than I did."

"You speak it well," Din told her, watching as she turned toward him, a smile still gracing her features. 

"Not without good reason. Was either learn it or be treated like a dunce. We only spoke Mando'a. The first basic I heard was when I found Wren," she reminisced wryly. "Vor'e." (Thanks) Despite her long absence, she'd not forgotten her manners. "Now, it's been a long day and who knows how long we'll be amongst the blistering sand. It's time to go to sleep," she told Grogu, his distressed disagreement clear as he said:

"No."

"Oh, I wonder where you learned that. It's your buir's favorite word," (father's) she teased, shooting Din a sly glance.

"It is not," he groused.

"Mhm," she snarked back, but turned her eyes down toward the baby. "I promise you that I'll be here tomorrow. I shant be going anywhere from now on."

A new tone, a true lullaby lilted in the back of her throat, suiting her voice. Gentle, sweet and kind. Din watched as she danced lightly, the motion wooing the child as she opened her mouth to sing to him. 

"Little child, be not afraid

Though rain pounds harshly against the glass

Like an unwanted stranger

There is no danger

I am here tonight

Little child, be not afraid

Though thunder explodes and lightning flash

Illuminates your tear-stained face

I am here tonight

And someday you'll know

That nature is so

The same rain that draws you near me

Falls on rivers and land

On forests and sand

Makes the beautiful world that you'll see

In the morning

Little child, be not afraid

Though storm clouds mask your beloved moon

And its candlelight beams

Still keep pleasant dreams

I am here tonight

Little child, be not afraid

Though wind makes creatures of our trees

And their branches to hands

They're not real, understand

And I am here tonight

And someday you'll know

That nature is so

The same rain that draws you near me

Falls on rivers and land

On forests and sand

Makes the beautiful world that you'll see

In the morning

For you know

Once even I was a little child

And I was afraid

But a gentle someone always came

To dry all my tears

Trade sweet sleep for fears

And to give a kiss goodnight

Well now I am grown

And these years have shown

That rain's a part of how life goes

But it's dark and it's late

So I'll hold you and wait

'Til your frightened eyes do close

And I hope that you'll know

That nature is so

The same rain that draws you near me

Falls on rivers and land

On forests and sand

Makes the beautiful world that you'll see

In the morning

Everything's fine in the morning

The rain'll be gone in the morning

But I'll still be here in the morning."

The long lullaby had the intended effect, slipping over the child like a comforting blanket, his eyes fluttering shut as Ciri slipped over to the pram, resting his newly slumbering form. Din was out of his seat before, having closed the pram, sidling up behind her swiftly with a piece of fabric tucked in his hand - preserved and kept for the long months in anticipation of her return as he considered what he'd do when seeing her again. Watching her sway with the baby, her hips moving to the lilt of the music, ponytail swaying against her back made him feel at home. All the worries he had washed away with the rain, a substantial peace moving his heart as the lovely creature in front of him wooed him yet again.

"You have no patience," Ciri eyed the fabric. "I'm going to go shower. Remember?"

He hadn't. "I don't care."

"I do," Ciri snarked lightly. "I have sand in unpleasant places." She palmed his chest and danced away and into the 'fresher. Din pushed out a frustrated sigh, glancing down at the kid who was in blissful sleep. He heard the water start with a hiss, sitting on the edge of the bed as he thumbed the strip of cloth fondly. He grew anxious waiting, just the thought of roaming her naked body again making his skin twitch. He stood up, returning to his things to sift through them, finding his set of cuffs, tossing them onto the bed as he bowed his head forward, placing his helmet in his palms as he waited for the shower to stop. The building anticipation was making his chest grow tighter by the moment.

It took much longer than he would have preferred.

She stepped out eventually with her beskar'gam in her arms, setting it neatly beside his own. Her pale legs were exposed as she only wore her undershirt and smallclothes, a few scars lancing against her flesh where he didn't remember. When she turned, he saw the soft impressions of her breasts without bindings, nipples perky against the thin fabric like little mountains. Her cheeks were flushed from the hot water, a lurish pink, her hair still damp and clinging to her back as she patted it with a towel. Picking up his vambrace, he swept the pram into the washroom, closing the door before turning back toward her. 

Thick lashes framed her steel-blue eyes, and while they were dark he noticed that the base of ber lashes faded into deep gold blonde, a soft breath parted her rosy lips as she looked up at him expectantly. In his dreams, he thought of their reunion, wondering what he might feel. Now, as if the suns of Tatooine were in him, Din Djarin felt impossibly warm. Trailing forward carefully, he ran his fingers along the fabric on her collar, brushing up her neck before tilting her chin up. She made that face he'd dreamed of, the seductive flit of her lashes against her high cheekbones as she gazed up intensely, her soft mouth open just slightly. Even with the scars, she had the sweetest face he’d ever seen.

"Din?" Roused further by his name on her mouth, he brandished the fabric, her lips tugging up as she helped bring it to her face. A slight tinge deeper red than she had been when she stepped out, he tucked a stray piece of wet hair behind her ear. 

He tied it tightly, noticing that she had taken her beads out for the evening, letting her long hair loose. Once he was certain that the blindfold was secure, he reached up and removed his helmet, the lock disengaging with a hiss as he placed it down on the table with a soft thump. Fingers reacting first, he grazed her soft cheek, turning her face toward his as he met her mouth, tasting the mint on her tongue from when she'd cleaned in the washroom. Pleasant shocks of static lanced up his spine, a soaring wind of held anticipation warming his belly like a hearth. She melted into him, pressing close to his body as he kissed her, the exposed curve of her soft breasts brushing his torso. She was still hot from the shower. Din let out a soft moan, her lips tracing his and sucking on his lower lip. 

Sliding his hands down, he coasted the curves of her body - her back, waist, down her hips - before pushing up beneath her ass and pulling her higher with belligerent insistency. He had to crane down to meet her, neck still aching from when she'd punched him, but she was easy enough to lift off the ground despite her slight increase in weight. Her legs wrapped around his hips, pushing against the waistband of his pants, shirt riding up to reveal the entirety of her legs and a peep of her underwear. He marveled at her before, stepping forward to drop her into the soft comforter of the bed, swiping a tongue over his lips as she bounced slightly reminding him how small she was. It was easy to forget when he hadn’t seen his Cin’ciri for a year. His fingers tangled in her wet tendrils of hair, cooling his palm, heart fluttering as he tugged her head back and exposed her throat. A soft whine of protest came from her as he pulled her hair, his mouth to hers again - so soft and yielding - deepening the kiss and skimming his tongue along the scar on her mouth and the small indent in her skin. He enjoyed kissing the scar, a hot, tacky growl echoing in the back of his throat as he fixated on it. 

She let out a small gasp, fingers punching into the fabric of his shirt, scraping at his chest in a rather futile attempt to get it off of him. Taking advantage of her attempt to get reprieve - to come up for air - Din sank his tongue into her mouth. Her hand moved up, locking around his dark hair, pulling taut as they battled in her mouth. His skin was sweltering, his teeth biting into her lower lip, eliciting another soft huff. His Cin'ciri back in his arms, the newest additions to her body places for him to roam and explore. Feeling for the cuffs, he grabbed them and slid it around the hand on his chest, sneakily guiding her other hand down just in time for her to protest. Losing control. He knew part of it was infuriating for, as it had been part of the reason he'd broken her will and had her begging. If she'd thought he wouldn't use that to his advantage again, then she was more naive than he presumed. 

"Din! I'm already blind, why are you-" he shut her up by driving back into her mouth, forcing his tongue in. She lavished him, eager to taste him, to savor the feel of his mouth against hers in a way they'd not shared. His original chaste kiss was all but tossed to the wind as he made checks with her, wondering how long he could keep her before she tried to breathe. Breaking slightly, he watched the saliva dribble across her open mouth as he secured the cuffs and forced her hands above her. 

"You owe me, don't you?" he reminded her, running a hand along her breast, filling a calloused tan palm, which was still covered by the undershirt. "You pack extra clothing?"

"I have my ship here why-"

He ripped into her shirt like a feral animal, exposing her soft alabaster skin. Her nipples prickled pleasantly, the soft pink against her pale skin stark. His eyes went to the scars lining her frame, disrupting the once flawless skin save for her shoulder. He trailed them with his fingertips, watching as she shivered under his grasp. The lines were long, from ribcage to the opposite torso - and they were deep. The creature that had made these marks had done a number on her and he felt his temper flare. Briefly, her legs clenched together, almost as if she believed that the scars might change his opinion on her. Instead, he bent down, kissing the lines beneath her breasts, tracing them with his tongue, a delicious and delicate moan emitting from Ciri. The skin was softer, more brittle as it dipped beneath the natural plane of her skin. 

"Sweet girl," he mused, stealing her breath away as he sucked gently on the scars - aware that he needed to be gentle with the fragile skin. Observing the familiar haze of blush peeling over her cheeks as she tried not to appear abashed, he smiled against her skin. "Look at all these battle scars."

"I-" she stumbled slightly, arching her back into his kisses, frowning as her own body betrayed her. "Couldn't get rid of them."

"Why would you want to?" he breathed, drinking in her frame again. "Each one is a story. Stories that only I'll get to read." There were more differences, the outline of abs against her stomach as she took shaky breaths, her legs were stronger, her shoulders slightly broader from the repetition of hammering beskar. But despite the increased athleticism, her skin was still velvet soft, breasts perfectly sized, waist narrow as they bottomed out to full hips and a nicely formed ass.. "Mesh'la." (Beautiful) He was familiarizing himself with the form of her body again, roaming his rough palm against her skin as her flesh prickled in response to his touch, gooseflesh traveling in the wake of his loving destruction.

Sucking tenderly, he nipped marks across her skin, watching as each kiss left a small, red welt. Soft protests escaped her mouth, chin tilting back as she allowed him to draw along her body. Without the helmet, he could smell the soap on her skin, a light dash remaining from the leather she had been wearing. The sweetness before the storm, after all he had promised to repay her for the well placed blow down in the cantina. Simply binding her was not enough. 

After making his decision he drew up beside her ear, he murmured, "To'kursh." (orchard)

"To'kursh?" she repeated uncertainly. 

"Morut'yc miit." (Safe word)

"Tion'jor-  _ AH _ !" (Why?) she squealed as he pinched her nipple hard. Din Djarin grinned.

* * *

Depraved of sight and movement, Ciri was completely at Din's mercy. Her ears buzzed, cheeks burning, like the two suns that had set for the evening, as he muttered the safe word into her ear. Safe word? She'd only heard of such things being used for rough sex, startled when he pinched her. Rather than be frightened, she pushed against his calloused palm, the pinpricks following the pain; delightful and baser. After all, she had punched him earlier and offered respite. His original torture and foreplay back on Coruscant had hinted at him wanting to be rougher. She felt exhilarated by the idea of the bounty hunter roughing her up. Funny that he was being rougher with her now than he’d actually been with her when she had been his bounty.

Her abdomen already ached from where his teasing mouth as he nibbled at her. She was antsy, wishing to return the favor, to roam his skin with her fingertips and try to curve out some of the tense muscles. To look at his tanned skin and drink in every inch of him. Just beneath her fingertips before, separated by a thin shirt, she could feel the strong pectorals and swooned as what else might be hiding that she hadn’t got to see yet. Even if the Force hinted at where he might go next, only a soft breath tickling the hairs on her body gave a swiffer indication before he prodded at her. His mouth fastened to her nipple, teeth testing at the tender skin, the motion curling her toes. Her flesh was already sensitive there, throbbing from when he'd pinched her. Now it ached and each twist of his tongue made her groan as more barbs lanced the stinging areola.

"Din-" she complained in a tinny voice, gasping as he bit harder. God, she hated how pitiful she sounded, completely at his mercy as between her thighs felt disgustingly hot. And she would know. Her cheeks were blisteringly hot, her ears burning as the blindfold curved behind them. 

"All this time-" he muttered against her. "Torturing me with the thought that you could be dead or with another man. Not so much as a word from you."

"You know I had no way to contact you," Ciri said quickly. 

"You didn't try," he reprimanded, digging his fingers into her hips, pain blossoming as he turned her over from where she laid on her back to expose her side and back. His palm slapped down hard on her ass, making her heart jump into her throat as she squeaked. The raw burn against her skin made her head swim, a stuttering breath getting caught in the back of her throat as the sting was chased by his nails raking down, the difference in texture making a shiver shoot up her spine. "I'm going to make you so sore that it'll be difficult for you to sit the speeder bike tomorrow morning."

"Din," she whined, both in annoyance and anticipation. While she didn't think it'd be too comfortable to have to sit a speeder after he spanked her, she also had not minded the startling strike. Her core was hot, aching - not only because she'd missed him, but because of the way his words raked down her spine, chasing the pain. There was something increasingly sexy about being reprimanded by him, the grating texture of his baritone in her ears without the vocoder modulating it. There had been few enough times where she’d gotten to savor the natural warmth of his voice and now it made her breath quicken.

"You're going to beg again tonight," he warned her, voice husky and so close to her ear, fingers wrapping in her hair and tugging her neck back, sending pin needles stabbing down her neck. "Last time I was gentle with you."

A shiver traced her spine as she leveled her jaw in the direction she thought his face was, mouth raw and still needy, still ghosting with the scratchiness of his facial hair, the curve of his nose brushing against her inner cheekbone. "No, I won't," she offered obstinately, but even she doubted her own words. He’d turned her into a puddle last time, she could only hope she had a little bit more willpower.

"I like a challenge," he growled, spanking her again - bright white hot and stinging. Her head lolled forward, a plaintive moan parting her mouth as she struggled to hold herself up with the cuffs on. Elbows bucking, she glanced around, trying to sense where he'd gone. Her heart clenched, not that she was afraid of him hurting her, but because she didn't know where he was. 

"AhhHH."

The frigid kiss of metal made her jolt forward, but she was quickly grabbed to keep from fumbling too much. "Shh, sweet girl, don't move."

"I-is that-" She hadn’t been expecting it, her heart racing like a small animal in fear of being captured by its predator. The shock of the metal made her slightly disconcerted in the moment..

"Kal? Is that alright?" (Blade) Now her heart was thundering so loud she couldn't hear anything other than her own struggling breathing. His voice was gentle for a moment, testing the waters before continuing. Exhilaration fluttered her heart at his gentle inquiry.

"Elek," she agreed. 

"Be good, I don't want to hurt you."

Ciri shivered, but obeyed, unable to see where the knife was aside from where the flat touched. Sliding down her spine, she felt her jaw tremble as the wake of the blade made her skin intensely hot. There was something profoundly dangerous about what he was doing, but it made her skin dance delightfully. Weapons were his religion, if she just listened to his requests, she could savor the licking tongue of steel and know that he’d not slip or hurt her.

With how cool the vibro-blade was, she couldn't tell if she was being cut or if the flat of the knife were being applied to her skin. He pushed her back down, tracing the cold metal against her nipples, trembling as she tried not to arch into the pleasant trails it burned. Wisping between her breasts, her tummy, the blade erred near her pelvis, drawing light circles that nearly made her squirm.

"Stay still," he warned, noticing how antsy she was growing as her ankles chafed together. He ghosted over the raw spots he'd marked earlier, making her wince and mewl. "Vaabir gar sa meg?" (Do you like that?)

She nodded slowly, the tickling pain and scratching of the blade lancing lightning up and down her body, skin prickling sensitively as he moved to another mark. He bent down, offering her warm reprieve as he sucked on her teat, making her jerk slightly as the flat of the knife drew against her throat in an idle threat to keep her at bay. From the warmth above her, she knew that he was nearly straddling her. 

"I hope you have more underwear too," he mused, drawing the knife back down and severing the edge just against her hip. Ciri moaned, the slight tug of the fabric loosening, sending waves of heat coursing through her body. What if it had been a bra or her shirt? Or a dress? How would it feel to have a much tighter piece of clothing shorn right off of her? Rapping her lightly with the tip of the blade against her mound, she couldn't stop herself from jumping. "Udesii, I've got you, sweet girl." (Calm down)

"Ni kar'taylir," (I know) she whispered faintly, head spinning, perhaps her vision would be too if she could see. Where would he touch next?

His fingers grazed her heat, drawing a low, and much louder moan than she had been expecting to give. Her cheeks stung at her outburst, but knew that Din would have punished her further if she masked it. "Even on this dustball planet, you're soaking wet. You could supply enough sweetness for the town to drink and not go thirsty. But-" he pinched her nipple again. "Who does it belong to? I want to hear it from you, sweet girl."

She wanted reprieve, to be touched, to end the foreplay. "Gar, cyare!" (you, beloved) she whined as she felt his fingers brush above her raw nipple again, making her cry out.

* * *

She was not pleading yet, but he'd snapped something in her as she trembled in his grasp. He'd startled her with the knife, but she'd been willing to continue. By her rump, the skin had become bright red from where he'd slapped her, such a striking hue against how fair she was. Now her skin was lined with light tracings from the blade, none of what he'd done drawing blood. Doing such would betray the immense amount of trust she'd put into him as he did as he pleased while she was blindfolded. Now, her nipples were puckered and swollen from his torture and she flinched away as he went to touch again. 

Cyare. Even between the mixture of pleasure and pain she'd called him that. His cheeks burned, hot breath steaming in front of him as he drank her in again. Her fingers were gripped tightly and he knew that this was torture enough. She was always insistent in easing his pains, to include pleasing him, but he'd prevented that entirely as she splayed before him. Between her legs was soaking wet, her reception to his dominance blatant as he parted them further to observe her pretty lower lips. While he wasn't entirely done with his games, he did decide to pleasure her slightly.

His fingers were sticky from where he'd touched her, bringing his fingers up to smell. Sighing deeply, he bent down and took her bud in his mouth. Sweet, slightly salty, the bite of the soap she'd generously applied in her shower washing over his tongue. Bringing his thumb against the inner bone of her left thigh, he held her leg in place as she quaked slightly another low moan sending quivers down her muscles as he lapped up her juices. 

Originally, he'd intended to be teasing, but given how much time they'd been apart, he was greedy. His trousers felt terribly small as his cock throbbed against his leg. Swirling the tip of his tongue against her clitoris, he nipped lightly before darting between her folds. "I could do this all night-" he glanced up to see her reaction, his eyes level with her heaving chest, the gorgeous swells jiggling as she strained against her cuffs. 

"Din-" she cried, his name bringing him back down to take her bud in his mouth again. 

"Ask me, sweet girl," he encouraged. 

"Shab ni, gedet'ye!" (Fuck me, please!) she pleaded, growing restless beneath his grasp. 

He slipped a finger into her heat, a trembling moan shivering through her body as he pumped against her. The walls were tight, shoving against him as he worked into her, his other fingers becoming coated in the process. He rolled his thumb, oscillating over her clit, forcing her legs open wider, drawing her forward. He draped her legs over his shoulders, her ass meeting the hard outline of his manhood in his trousers. From this position he was able to look down at her fully, brushing her sore nipples, which caused her to squeak between her insistent moans. 

"Not yet," he warned.

"That's not fair," she complained loudly. 

"I didn't say it was, sweet girl. I-" he was cut off, the cuffs being flung from her wrists and against the wall with a thump. She tensed her legs, using the leverage on his shoulders to fling him down onto the mattress. She arched above him, calves tucked beneath his shoulder blades and her sex tantalizingly close to his mouth again as she sat near his collar, leaning off slightly as not to put her full weight on him. "How did you get those off?"

"I learned a few tricks since I've last seen you," she retorted arrogantly, rubbing her wrists, sensing where his hands were before he could restrain her again. She snapped, fighting him slightly for control before he bit her bud. Ciri yelped, rocking into him as he traced his tongue along her, amused by her willfulness. "Ahh, Din just... let me touch you, please. You didn't let me last time either, I just want to-" her voice hitched, his fingers pressing into her pelvis as her head lolled back. "At this rate I'm going to be dehydrated tomorrow."

He laughed against her, blonde tendrils of hair fluffing up around her in a slight mess from being fussed against the comforter. It didn’t matter, straddled against this collar, giving him such a spectacular view - she was a goddess. She might've been attempting to get a more dominant position, but with her calves pinned beneath him, she wasn't going much of anywhere. She bucked forward as he dug his nails into the flat of her hip, pressing her palms against the bed as she panted. Din smacked her ass again, making her cry in delight. 

" _ Diiiiiin, _ " she protested again, but he could feel the tremble in her legs as he continued to ply at her. "Don't, ah- please don't stop." 

He was more willing to oblige tonight, savoring her taste and the broken discipline of his lover as she begged him once again. A spasm tensed her legs and she let out a pent up breath, crying as he continued to lap at her overstimulated pussy. 

"D-D-Din. Ahhh, please-" she pled through a quivering voice.

He let her roll off, her legs quaking as they pressed together in an attempt to protect her aching core. But she didn't stay down for long, instead before he had the chance to sit up, she pounced back on him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, pushing hard. He flopped back against the bed, her grip strong and relaxing as her knuckles skimmed against tight muscles.

Din groaned, comprehending her intention. "Duumir ni kar'taylir darasuum gar." (Let me love you) She found the knocks against his collar, pressing into them. Even if she was blind, he could see her slender form over him, thoughtful and hardworking as she pushed her body weight against him. Mounting him, she rubbed her pelvis against his, reminding him duly of his hardness. Her lips curved up in acknowledgement, driving the breath from him again as she snaked her fingers underneath his neck and into taut shoulders. Din nipped her neck as her hair tickled his face, hearing her hum warmly as his lips pressed to the hollow of her throat. 

"Ciri-" he protested as she struck a pressure point, making him jump. 

"Why... am I the only naked one again?" she purred in his ear, biting his lobe before punching her nails into his shoulders, dragging them across the fabric. 

"You only have to ask, sweet girl."

"You only listen half the time," she pointed out with a huff. 

"Only when you're good," he pinched a reddened nipple, making her jolt with a hiss. He moaned slightly, her hips grinding back down against his cock.. 

"Are you certain you'll be fine tonight? You're quite stiff," she teased lightly. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt before the morning," she leaned back, rubbing the chuck of her palm against his hard on through the fabric. 

Din grit his teeth, lids pressing shut as he tried to steady his breathing. "Get up, I'll-" he started, tugging on the collar of his shirt in an attempt to pull it up. She shuffled, working his belt before he could even take the shirt off. The warm air of the room curled against his chest as he threw the shirt off the bed, tensing as her fingers wrapped around his girth. She pumped gently, tilting her head in his direction mischievously. "You don't need to-" he protested, but she didn't listen, dragging her tongue along the bottom of his cock. 

Static lanced up his spine as a huff split his lips and she took him in her small mouth. She roamed him, cupping his balls as she bobbed up and down, darting her tongue along his head before popping, exposing him to the sting of the air. She took him again, this time daring to go deep enough that Din moaned as how hard she sucked, her tongue doing devilish things whilst she moved. His hips bucked naturally, meeting resistance at the back of her throat. A slight gasp escaped her mouth, but he was spurned further by her ability to continue. Fingers digging into the comforter, Din scrunched his eyes shut, her grip on his balls tightening as he pushed into her. She released him for a moment, sliding her tongue down his shaft before darting her tongue against his balls. 

She took one in her mouth, the sensation foreign but chilling as Din gasped, gripping the nearest part of her; her leg. He raked his nails into her soft flesh, jaw locking as her thumb traced the pre-cum on his head. 

He was getting close, drawn obscenely to the edge by her mouth. Part of him wondered if he'd spent too long playing with her, naturally growing harder as he watched her writhe. Or, she was good at what she was doing. 

"Ciri," he groaned. "I'm not finishing this way."

"No?" she turned her face back toward him, flitting her tongue along him in a teasing manner. 

"No," he assured her, wrenching himself up, fully intending on fucking her. Her fingers glided against his hardness, making his abs tense as he reached for her, fighting down a moan as the seductive warmth of her actions nearly bent him again. "You begged me last time to come in that sweet cunt of yours. Unless you've changed your mind now that you follow the Resol'nare."

"Sad ade ni ganar mav cuyir ba'mando," (Any children I have will be Mandalorian) she protested as he hooked her hips around, forcing her down on all four. Getting a full few of her spread and open, he traced his fingers along her folds. 

"Ner ade?" (My children?) 

"Shi gar," (only yours) she assured him as he pressed his head against her, sliding against her wetness to prepare himself. She trembled slightly in anticipation before he pushed in. He grunted slightly, the resistance from her tight core taking him a moment to glide into. She was so small and tight, her walls silken as they tensed around him. 

"Then I will give you what you want," he promised, curving a palm against her ass before pushing into her warmth. His lids closed, chest aching slightly as he began to rock to a steady rhythm. His head met her cervix, the stimulation of both her tightness and the resistance making him huff moans. Gripping her hips his pace picked up, spurned further by the hitching cries that progressed to screams as she gripped a pillow and tried to stifle herself. Her delight shifted to pain, but she didn't ask him to stop, instead she let his balls slap against her as he continued to accelerate. "You're so tight-" he managed through a strangled voice, gasping as she slid down slightly, adjusting her hips and deepening the angle. 

Pin needles lanced his flesh and his breathing hitched as the overwhelming buzz claimed between his legs, the friction drawing him to the edge and over - her whining protest in tandem with the fluttering of her walls pushing him. He shuddered, gripping her hips tightly, spilling his seed within her, bowing over her with a palm on the bed as he tried to catch his breath. 

The both of them panted in the position before Din managed to sit back up, his orgasm making his limbs tremble as he pulled out, watching as the sticky white cum seeped out of her stretched lips. She flopped over to the side, quaking slightly, and he knew that her back had to be sore from how hard he'd ridden her. Laying beside her, Din tugged her close, running his fingers along the small of her spine. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently as she snuggled against his collar, draping her leg across his pelvis. Her fingers drew circles along his exposed chest hair. 

"Sore," she admitted with a small smile. 

"Was it too much?" he worried, having sprung a few things on her during the moment.

"No, I enjoyed it all," she nestled her face into his neck, savoring the skin to skin contact. "You did startle me a bit with the knife."

He continued to rub her back reassuringly. "I'll warn you next time," he promised. 

"I trust you. Just don't spring toys on me without mentioning it beforehand," she said lightly, no reproach in her voice. "And the cuffs were too tight. Rope or something softer would do better. That's why I took them off. While I do enjoy being dominated, I think I might enjoy being on top sometimes."

Din smirked at her honesty, pressing a kiss to her brow. "I don't mind switching. You did surprise me pleasantly, even if it didn't work to your advantage."

"I can't exactly see, so I was guessing where you were," she pointed out tartly. 

"Are you certain you want to be on top? You beg so prettily," he prodded.

"I do not-" 

"You do," he insisted, tickling her spine. She squirmed, giggling and slapping a palm gently on his chest to get him to stop.

"Din," she was whining again in that high pitched mewling tone. "Next time, I will fight you."

That wasn't much of a threat. Even if she'd gotten better, she was still a medic. But the thrill of having to work more made his heart flutter. "Hm, will you now? I think we both know how that will go."

"You'll have to take it from me," she was in his ear, sending a shudder down his spine as she whispered. "Force me, like I'm a bounty again. But I swear, if you put me in that fucking cryo-"

"I wouldn't, cyare," he brushed her hair, tucking the tendrils behind her ear. She was entreating him to roleplay, to be rough. "Just like a bounty? More planning might be needed. It may not be 'next' time."

"Are you expecting to get me out of my beskar'gam so soon after tonight?" she snickered, running a hand through his hair. The motion was soothing as she rubbed his scalp. "You still haven't told me what a krayt dragon is."

"It's a reptilian creature that lives in the Dune Sea. However, the one we saw today is quite a bit larger than typical. They have very thick, scaly skin and are difficult to put down."

"Ah, so definitely blasters for this hunt," she mused. 

"Did... you not use blasters for any of your hunts on Krownest?"

"No, I did not. Metal to flesh, tooth to claw. I wanted to make the grounds as even as possible and a blaster felt like cheating," Ciri informed him.

Din was more impressed than he should have been. "Yes, blasters will be necessary for this one," he chuckled. "Even yet, I'd prefer weren't on the front line-" his fingers traced her tummy, wondering if the seed would take. Just thinking about building a family made him sigh wistfully. 

She grabbed his hand, interlacing her small fingers with his. "I'll be where I'm needed. I can hunt and I'm not with child yet."

"But the moment you are-"

"I know, I know," she groused. "You'll lock me up in the Crest and won't let me see daylight."

"Gar kar'taylir ni so'pirusti," (You know me too well) he smirked.

"I could know you better," she said lightly, but quickly followed up. "When you're ready."

He didn't flinch away from her, but contemplated what she said. She was right. Ciri had revealed so much to him, even the most painful parts of her life. Until this point in his life, he'd never had anyone that he trusted to broach the subject of his history. He had already told her about his upbringing, how his parents had been killed, and he orphaned in turn... but he'd been vague. There was also a large gap from when he became Mandalorian until they met, including his relationship with Xi'an and what happened on Alzoc III. This was the woman he wanted to have children with, she did deserve to know. 

"Soon," he promised.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Double feature of Din for you lovelies.

_ "Only those who risk going too far can possibly know how far they can go." _

* * *

Morning, he was half expecting that she might not be there. A cool spot where her form had been sent him into a fit, opening his eyes to find that she wasn't nestled against his pectoral, draping her slender body against him. Instead, he found his helmet on the bed and heard a soft cooing from inside the washroom. Panic was replaced by confusion, then a slight bit of worry. Fingers tightening around the cool beskar, he slid it back over his head, wondering if she'd looked at him while he was asleep.

No. She wouldn't have done that. He retrieved his clothing, putting it back on before knocking on the 'fresher door. There was a slight pause in the conversation inside, obviously one sided, and then the door hissed open. Ciri had replaced the blindfold again, her long hair knitted back into the intricate braids and the beads returned. The kid was behind her in the pram, turned away from the door to keep the child from looking at him.

Din reached up and tugged the cloth off her face, bemused cobalt eyes listing up toward him. "You didn't wear this all morning, did you?" How she had managed to navigate their mess, he was uncertain.

"No, I took it off in the washroom. I needed to get ready. All this hair requires a bit of attention. My one vice," she griped, pushing the tumbles as if to be dramatic.

"One vice?" he repeated glibly.

Ciri snorted, standing on the tips of her toes to press a kiss to the side of his helmet, where his cheek was beneath. The gesture warmed him, a pleased prickle against the back of his neck. "Ok, I may have a few others," she admitted grudgingly, turning around to trot back toward the kid. She had her kute back on, but he was curious if she'd managed to get out to her ship or if she was still missing some of the base layers beneath it from their tyrade. The very thought of that made him grin wickedly, imaging the medic commando beneath her armorweave. 

"Mesh'la," he sighed, the air driven from his lungs as he admired her; the line of her lean shoulders, her fine posture, the swift manner in which she moved in a fine march - rolling heel to toe with each step, the confidence in each plant, the long gorgeous hair that was tied back in a practical fashion for her helmet. He wanted the beskar'gam back on her, not because he was only worried about her getting hurt, but because it quickened his pulse - something deeply attractive about his lover being as faceless as him amongst others. A face only reserved for the child and him; their clan.

She leveled a tempered smirk at him. "Flattery only gets you so far, Djarin."

"Can we go much further than we already have?" he suggested impishly, watching her cheeks flush as she scoffed at him, trying to play off her chagrin at the mention of their debauchery. The answer was yes, but he liked to fluster her, especially when it was more than just the two of them. In front of the clueless child, she seemed to be especially touchy, despite the fact that only a wall had barely separated them while last night. She wasn't the type to kiss and tell, as she'd reminded him a few times and he gleaned the true meaning was that she didn't like to share the details of her encounters - as if putting them to words embarrassed her. "How are you feeling today?"

He felt wonderful, a weight lifted off his shoulders, a new wind pressing in his lungs - which would likely get ripped out the moment he stepped out into Tatooine's arid and uncomfortable surface - but he savored it for now. Picking up the child, she cocked him against her hip naturally. "I think I'll be able to sit a speederbike just fine," she snarked back, throwing a devilish look at him, thick lashes dancing suggestively against her cheekbones.

A challenge. Without being forthwith, she was giving him permission to be rougher next time. Part of him had worried that due to being so small, that hitting her too hard would actually hurt her. But he didn't get the chance to feel the need rise again, a burning pit in his stomach - wanting to reach out and touch her, as she thrust Grogu into his hands. "Let me put on my beskar'gam and I'll help you. We need to head out of here soon."

Right. They had a job to do and it was easy to get distracted when all he wanted to do was keep her locked up in that room and forget about everything else. Swallowing the rise in his chest, he took the kid out of the room and let her finish getting ready. "You're in a good mood," he told Grogu, despite knowing why he was so pleasant. Din was also in a good mood; the first time in a very long time since everything felt right. The loneliness was chased away, along with the lingering doubt that they'd ever be reunited. 

Grogu babbled in agreement, motioning back toward the door where Ciri was strapping on her boots. He leaned aggressively, eager to be back with her, and vexed that he had to be separated. Din hadn't realized that the child might have anxiety after being split from her, the vindication clear on his face as he plied for her desperately. Trailing a hand reassuringly down the kid's back, Din tried to calm him. Over the year, the child had begun getting more emotional, finicky, and quicker to rise to anger when he didn't get what he wanted.

Helmet tucked under her arm, Ciri returned with a small frown. "What is it now?" she asked, the child brightening immediately. "Oh no, we're not going down this path," she scolded, tapping his nose with her gloved index finger. "I already told you I'm not going anywhere. But there will be times where it is safer for you to stay home. You can't throw a tantrum each time."

Oh he could, Din was quite aware of this. There had been a few so terrible that he thought the child was going to rip apart the Crest. Whether that be waking from a nightmare or just being overcome by his separation from her, it was difficult to get a leash on the baby once he'd decided he was upset. Between the Force ripping drawers open and scattering objects, to once levitating Din off his feet, he'd begun wondering if he could handle the child for much longer. With no knowledge of the magic, he had been startled and lashed out at the kid - not intending to upset him, but he had been frightened by the pedantic displays and also just as stressed out. With Ciri back, she could help guide the child away from using his magic improperly.

There was a link between them that was beyond comprehension; the magic running deep in their thoughts and mannerisms. He wondered if she was using the Force to soothe the kid or if she just naturally had a calming aura. Setting the little green gremlin down, she put her helmet on the table, picking up his heartplate, surveying it quickly before darting her eyes back up to him. It was then that he noticed the difference on her pauldrons, the white paint stark against the blue glow of the natural beskar. She'd added the mudhorn sigil in paint, a temporary fix until she had the ability to smelt it. Perhaps his insistence to give her Mandalorian children had been enough of a clue about how he felt with her back at his side. 

Her fingers tightened the leather straps to the point where he gasped a little, having forgotten that she could be a little callous, to include her abysmal bedside manner. As if sensing his disdain, "Have to make certain nothing is exposed. I'd like to keep injuries down to a minimum; avoid it completely if possible."

"Isn't that your job?" he smarted, wincing as she tugged the strap again.

"Yes, my job is to make certain you don't get yourself wasted. And if you do, I'll patch you up," she didn't falter, a sternness in her voice as she gave him a light tap on the back of his chestplate. "Hey! You little ankle biter-" She flew after Grogu who was trying to pull a lamp down from the nightstand.

Din resumed replacing his armor, loosening his chestplate enough that he could breathe. 

Cobb Vanth was waiting outside for them, the man's eyes sliding over both Mandalorians before there was an amused twist of his lips. "Seems like you two managed to 'work' things out last night," he gleaned, the words sending a rigid shock through Ciri that made Din laugh, his vocoder not quite translating the soft noise. Her horrified face was hidden beneath her helmet, but he knew she was asking the question: Did people hear us? Din wouldn't doubt it and he didn't care much. In fact, he preferred people knowing what was his. "Let's get going. I want to get out there before both suns come up and it gets sweltering."

Mounting the borrowed speeder, he tilted his helmet slightly toward his partner. "You don't have your own?" he knew she didn't. If she'd flown to Freetown and landed nearby in her starship, it was unlikely she had a bike inside. 

"Copaanir ni at tionar meh ni lo'nari ti kaysh?" (Want me to ask if I can ride with him?) she glanced, her voice innocent as it read through his helmet, toward Vanth, setting his blood to a boil at the suggestion. The marshal was in a small vehicle made from a podracer engine, sitting with him would mean sitting on his lap.

"Pir bat," (Get on) he growled, sliding back on the seat to allow room for her to sit. His intention had already been to have her ride with him, but she'd slapped back with her infamous glib mouth. This was the first time in a long time he'd spoken so much Mando'a. Not that he minded it, able to trade remarks with her and Vanth none the wiser. 

Ciri threw her short leg over the bike and slid back, her cloak padding between his heartplate. He knew immediately that she should have left it back in the room and that wearing this between them was going to cause him to sweat more than necessary. The curve of her ass pressed between his legs, an impish lean between his thighs as she ground against him harder than she needed to. Din knew it was intentional, gripping the bike's accelerators tight enough that the leather of his gloves squeaked, as he suppressed a moan. Vexing woman. Reminded duly that the stern medic between his legs was his, steadying his breath as not to betray to Vanth his glaring arousal. Seemed last night hadn't been enough to take the edge of his longing... that or the beskar'gam she wore was doing it for him, more so than the dress on Coruscant.

Only his cyare was aware as she turned slightly to be certain that Grogu was tucked safely in the saddlebag. The kid let out an excited squeal, eager for the day's endeavors.

Once they were all set, Vanth inclined his head slightly. "Alright-" he revved the engine to his speeder, which growled like a loth-cat, before he kicked up a wisp of sand, strafing around him like a cloak of gritty mist. Din started the bike and listed after him, flanking, as not to travel in the wake of the sand. It didn't matter for either him or Ciri, their helmets buffering the sand, but the kid was glancing around out of the saddlebag. 

Tan dunes rolled in front of them, shapeless and repetitive, spanning as far as their eyes could see. Had Din not been familiar with the crusty planet, he might've been hopelessly lost - which was a death sentence amongst the unforgiving landscape. His cyare leaned back against him, head on a swivel as she kept her own eyes peeled while he drove. 

"So how did you really get that armor?" Ciri spoke up as they rode across the desert, moving from the plains of sand to tall plateaued cliffs that were a burnished terracotta hue. Getting them from Jawas might've been true, but the Jawas would have known the value of true beskar and wouldn't have parted with it cheaply. He was slightly impressed by her realization, recalling when she'd not even really known what Jawas were.

Vanth glanced toward the pair, a lighthearted look on his face, perhaps because it was a duo of Mandalorians who were very obviously a couple that he relaxed slightly in their company. "Mos Pelgo was on its last legs, used to be a mining town. When we got news about the second Death Star's destruction, hit the town harder. Wasn't until the Battle of Endor that the Empire started to withdraw forces from Tatooine. But that peace didn't last more than a second.

"The Mining Collective took advantage of the lull, turning Mos Pelgo into a slave camp overnight. I barely managed to escape from the cantina before they took over, running outside and taking a camtono of whatever they had on their speeder. Didn't know what was in it, but I took it with me sort of hoping it might be food or water. Turned out to be silicax crystals. So, you figure, doesn't help me much when I'm wandering through the desert with no food or water and the next settlement is hours away on speeder - let alone legs.

"Maker permitting, I came across those scrawny little midgets in their sandcrawler. They took me in, wanting what was in the camtono. Now, I'm not stupid. I knew that the silicax crystals were worth more than some food and water. They kept bringing all sorts of things up to me, weapons, trash, trying to pry the crystals out of my hands. Then I saw it up on the wall, the beskar. And I thought 'What could I do with that?'

"It still had ammunition. I exchanged the crystals for the armor and used it to help expel the Mining Collective from the town. When they were fleeing, I used the rocketlauncher to get the last of them on their landspeeder before they could go grab reinforcements.

"Ever since, Mos Pelgo has been known as Freetown," Vanth surmised, bringing Din to the realization that shooting the man in cold blood would have been a mistake. As much as he disliked admitting that he could make mistakes, Cobb Vanth didn't seem like one of the bad guys. Rather, he was just a man trying to survive and help others. There was nothing dishonorable about that, even if the beskar'gam really didn't belong to him. Reminded duly of Ciri's chastising in the cantina before their row, he was glad to have her reasonable voice beside him, acting as the calm conscience that could see through the storm of his fury.

"What about you two? What's your story? Only heard a few things about Mandalorians. 'Bout how they're the best warriors in the galaxy. You both looking for more?" Vanth swapped the subject, sparing a slight glance at them, as if expecting a fair trade from the mandos. 

Only, both of the helmeted warriors remained awfully quiet. Din had been in search of other Mandalorians in order to trace through the coverts to find her. Ciri... well, he didn't quite know why Ciri was looking for more Mandalorians aside from the brief knowledge he had of Concord Dawn and the gathering forces on the planet in the Mandalore System. For everything they had done last evening, it hadn't been discussing what brought them to Tatooine. He knew of where she had endured by the images, but not the depth of the details between the lines - she had been shorter when time started leading closer to their reunion. 

Finally, "Yes. We are looking for more." Din did not speak, Ciri revealed their plans vaguely to sate the marshal.

However, throw a dog a scrap and he'll want a bone. "What for? If you don't mind me asking."

"I do mind," Ciri retorted, her voice calm but edgy as it translated through her vocoder. The warmth erred when the modulator spoke for her, taking the majority of the benevolence in her voice and making it seem more robotic. Din wondered if that's what he sounded like.

Just the buzzing of their engines took the place of conversation then, the heat rising to a sweltering pitch as they continued into the canyons. Both suns were glaring down, refracting off the unpainted beskar and throwing orbs of light - silver and blue - against the tall, sheer walls that boxed them in, forcing them like womp rats through a labyrinth. While it did cut the edge of the suns' glint, they were pinched. Perfect ambush territory with no coverage.

In front of him, his partner sensed the same, fingers remaining on her blaster as they continued through the chasm roads. Aside from the brief scuttle in hand to hand combat, he wondered what else had improved in her prowess. She'd already been a good shot. Vanth's motor puttered as he braked, curving the engine into a cloak of shade, but not for reprieve. A creature glided forward, a reptilian canine with thick armored skin molted in tans and blacks. Beady eyes leered at them, the impressive maw slicing up the entire jawline to reveal jagged, yellowed teeth. Thick, stubby muscles corded in those powerful limbs as the charcoal spines on its back - the mane - quivered in a warning: go no further.

He stopped the Zephyr, his companions growing restless in the fact of the beast, but he dismounted, boots plunking on the dry, cracked earth as he prowled forward with no weapon in hand. The mannerisms of the beast bespoke training, so he assumed that its masters were not too far. Speaking in the guttural tone of the Tusken Raiders, he made the hand gestures that accentuated his words, the canine's eyes hanging on each movement. The original caution evaporated and the massiff pushed up into his outstretched palm, giddy and excited. He pet it, gloves scratched over the top of its rough skin as the creature wagged a tailless rump.

From around the corner, the massiff's masters trotted forward, still erring warily despite the words they had heard. Donning the colors of the desert, the Raiders were in varying shades of tan and brown, faces obscured by the inwardly pinched rebreathers, eyes hidden behind goggled circles. Even if he'd sat around their fires, he'd never seen their faces. Tusken Raiders were just as secretive about themselves as the Tribe had been and had no expectation that the Mandalorian would remove his helmet.

Gesticulating in his direction, they barked shrewd words, having heard Din speak to the massiff from their hiding position. Honesty and clarity was their best bet, because undoubtedly there were raiders up on the ridges with slug firing rifles trained on them. Vanth was tense and Ciri was trying to gauge the situation, likely having not encountered Tusken Raiders until this point. He told them that they were headed to the krayt dragon's lair with the intention of slaying it, catching small snippets from the Raiders who were openly hostile toward Vanth. 

Despite this, the Raiders were practical people. The desert was unforgiving and holding grudges did nothing but make them bereft of possible opportunities. They were willing to set their differences aside if it resulted in a positive outcome for their ilk.

"What's going on? What do they want?" Vanth asked, guarded and fingers still skimming his blaster as if he suspected the encounter would dissolve in a matter of seconds. 

"They want to kill the krayt dragon too," Din revealed.

The man sat back in his speeder, drumming his fingers on the edge of the vehicle anxiously. Almost as if his prejudice of the Raiders was more important than the impending danger the dragon imposed on Freetown. "Fine," he relinquished, voice still highly prissy and filled with displeasure. 

Getting back on the speeder, they lolled behind the Tusken Raiders, snaking through the canyon and rising on a dusty outcropping to where the rest of their people had set up camp for the night. On the horizon where the dual suns set, ribbons of night slithered up to reclaim the amber sky from the crimson disks that sunk lower and lower against the sandy sea before vanishing. In place of the torrid temperature, fingers of cool air brushed at his kute, alleviating some of the sweat that made the material stick to his tanned skin.

They were invited to sit beside the largest fire, the flames kicking high up toward the night sky, orange fingertips wickering as they tried to grasp the stars. Vanth was still aggrieved as he sat on the ground with his helmet off, eyes flicking between each movement, each flutter of robes, and every coarse word that billeted his ears. 

Ciri was with the kid in her lap, drawing her cloak in to ward away the polar swap in temperature. Grogu glanced hesitantly toward a massiff that was eying him, pushing into his mother's belt buckle as if to warn the canine that the woman would shoot it if it dared to come closer. Still, it was an animal and saw the child as a tasty, mouthsized morsel. Unless ordered, the creature wouldn't dare attack. 

He was still conversing with the Tuskens, trying to glean all the information they had of this dragon. From what he comprehended, it was much larger than a normal krayt dragon, which had been observed with it swallowing a bantha whole. Whilst talking, he heard a sharp intake of breath, glancing in the direction of the noise to see a Tusken offering Vanth a black melon. The melons looked like spineless sea urchins, frothing with obsidian mist as the tops were cracked off to reveal their morbid dew. 

The chieftain in front of Din gestured, clearly wanting Vanth to drink it. Part of Din knew that this was slight payback, to show Cobb what the Tuskens had to endure without the luxury of moisture farms, but he also was aware that it was a peace offering. 

Recoiling, Vanth gave the Tusken in front of him a venomous look. 

"Drink it," Din ordered thinly. "It is not wise to offend our hosts, especially since they are upset with your people for stealing all the water and not drinking it."

The man's tanned, leathery skin grew heated, the flare of red visible against the glow of the fire. "Stealing it? I don't see them working moisture farms. It's our water to do with what we want," he started, drawing a quaking breath.

The chieftain bit back, lashing out about having lost several of his people during the last raid on Freetown due to Vanth. 

Even if Vanth did not comprehend, he recognized the tone of voice, the rising cadance as the Tusken rose into a feverish shout. Standing up, Vanth began yelling right back, setting the entire camp on edge as they leered across the darkness toward the human clamoring with their leader. 

" _ Stop it _ !" the voice broke out, humming with such power and aura that even Din shuddered. The entire camp silenced, held beneath the terribly strong grip of the female mando who stood up with a green child in her arms. Despite how small she was, the commanding posture of her back and the dominion she lashed at them - subjecated everyone - causing Vanth to swallow hard as he looked at her. "Arguing gets us nowhere with the krayt dragon."

The tilt of her helmet, the dark coppery visor peering only slightly at him. "If we fight amongst ourselves, the monster will kill us," Din agreed, the immense pressure on his shoulders lifting as abruptly as it had settled. The chieftain choked a breath he had been holding, looking scarcely in her direction. The Tusken was afraid and rightly so. Din had seen few displays of the Force applied like this from her, but it had the intended effect; no one was arguing anymore. "The krayt dragon-" Din continued, bringing the conversation back to the head, acting as the translator as the chieftain gained his voice back and started once more.

With the exhaustion of their journey, they were allowed to settle in around the warmth of the fire in mild peace from the Tuskens as they sidled off to their tents. Din took a seat beside her, the kid coiled up in her arms, snoozing. "Go to sleep," he offered, watching the reflection of the flames dancing madly against her visor and helmet. 

"Hm?" she lifted her head, clearly not as lucid as he'd thought by the rigid vigil she sat. Perhaps the strain of using the Force had taken more out of her than he had anticipated. "What about you?"

"I slept well last night."

"I'll relieve you," she promised, words he knew he could trust. Shifting slightly, her thigh brushed his, pausing slightly. "Do you mind?" A tentative request, almost as if this proximity in public might be frowned upon. 

"No," he moved his shoulder back, opening his arm so that she could rest against him. Nestling in, her helmet pressed between the gap of his chestplate, a soft sigh escaping her before she nodded off. Naturally, his arm wrapped around her, resting against her opposite hip as her deep breaths calmed him, moving up and down like the lull of a ship on a smooth ocean.

"She got the same marks on her shoulders as you now," Vanth was still awake and probably wouldn't fall asleep surrounded by his enemies. Talking, deflecting, was a defense mechanism to distract himself from his discomfort.

"Yes," he admitted, glancing down to look at the mudhorn sigil that had been carefully painted. With the same steady hands that meticulously stitched him back together years ago. 

"Do you mandos take your helmets off around each other?"

"Some do," Din responded, thinking of the visions and the other Mandalorians who had no qualms about removing theirs. A deep, rumbling unsettle fell in his stomach at the thought of that and their jabs, calling Paz and Ciri fanatics, cultists. For so long his identity had been tethered to his facelessness, the idea that they were all just warriors and that faces were nothing - a promise not to reveal it was the price for the path he'd been blessed to walk. Now it felt like a curse, unable to have the child or Ciri gaze upon him - all of him. There hadn't been enough time to think about it since her return, but now it bothered him.

"What about you two? I mean, I suppose since the whole cantina could hear you rutting," Vanth snorted, but Din was unbothered. "She pretty?" Simply a curiosity, but one that he wasn't fond of. With the helmet obscuring her face, she received attention in a new, less sexualized way. But just like Cobb, people wondered what laid beneath.

"Very," Din smarted, tilting his visor slightly toward Vanth to gauge his reaction. Why had he said that? If anything, he didn't want to draw more attention to her. There was a slight thrill in telling Vanth, a man who might've been more interested in her if her face was revealed, that beneath the helmet she was quite attractive. And for Vanth to think again about the noises he might've heard upstairs while Din had made well on their reunion in more than just the scuffle on the common house floor. It was a possessive move, one that Ciri would have scolded him for if she were awake, but it was  _ his  _ shoulder she was leaned upon, head nestled into the crook of his arm as she relinquished her well being entirely over to him. With Vanth as Freetown's leader, he wanted there to be no mistake in who Cin'ciri belonged to.

"Lucky man," Vanth gave him a devious smile. "Don't know if I could handle all that woman... Seems like the two of you had some catching up to do. You get separated?"

"Yes, for about a year. Didn't leave off on the best terms," Din revealed, seeing no harm in being vague. "She's not too much to handle," he objected, thinking of all the ways that Ciri had made his life easier. From watching the kid, to making certain he was taking proper care of himself, to offering respite from loneliness and a sense of comradery he'd not felt since he was a teenager. He didn't have to babysit her and he hadn't for a very long time - even before she'd left. While she could be a smartass, they didn't argue much. 

"I thought she was going to beat the shit out of you."

"If not for the krayt dragon, she might've," but he'd hurt her and like him, she was incredibly prideful. Using the element of surprise, she'd knocked him down and had the advantage, but if the fight had continued, he might've overpowered her eventually.

Hours bled on and Ciri woke up, insisting that he turn in for a few hours and she'd keep watch. He still held her, comforted by her small form between his arms as he shifted slightly to rest his chin on top of her helmet. Falling asleep to the cast of amber, gold, and orange against his visor, he was not roused until just before dawn. A light poke into his collar, just enough to make him jump as Ciri prodded him. The Tuskens were just beginning to stir, preparing for the journey to the krayt dragon den. 

"Cuyir val human?" (Are they human?) she had been quiet during the discussions, but now as they were preparing to set off she asked in a low voice so not to be overheard. 

"Nayc. Ni ganar draar haatyc val ures a buy'ce," (No. I have never seen them without a mask) he answered, still unaware of what was beneath their facial coverings.

"Shi guuror gar," (Just like you) she teased, feeding the child some of the rations she had with her. 

"Ni cuy' nayc tusken," (I am not Tusken) he frowned.

"Ni kar'taylir ibac. Ni kar'taylir te briik be gar baar nay'pirusti," (I know that. I know the lines of your body too well) she mused, keeping up with the jesting tone of voice as she worked him up. 

"Vaabir gar?" (Do you?) he didn't intend on her letting her continuing to pepper him with wry comments. 

"Ni Ru'lis kar'taylir bic jate'shya," (I could know it better) she purred, wiping the child's mouth. "If you didn't fuss as much."

"I don't fuss."

The manner in which she tilted her helmet, he knew she was arching a brow at him beneath the visor. 

She didn't get the chance to keep chipping at him, rather the chieftain reappeared and began speaking to him. Setting up for the day, leaving behind the speeders at camp, before following the convoy on foot. Their short journey the rest of the way to the den brought them on a rise overlooking a craggy mountain. Sand sloped down from their plateaued hill, an expansive field before the mouth of a cave. The trio of humans laid flat against the crest, beskar to silt, as they watched two Tuskens trail toward the den with a furry bantha. 

Din had his macrobinoculars in his hands, peering over to see that Ciri had flipped down a reader on her helmet. "What is that?" he asked quietly.

"Tracking retinue. I can use it to line up targets, zoom in, trace movements, estimate where my shots will hit based on gravity and wind," she told him. 

"I want one," Din decided, setting his binoculars back in front of his visor. 

"I can make the according adjustments with the proper parts," Ciri promised, a smile clear in her voice.

She had shiny new things, it wasn't his fault he also  _ needed  _ to have them. Suddenly, the advantage of her new talents became as bright as the sunlight. What else could her helmet do that his couldn't? He'd have to remember to ask later.

Beside him, one of the Tuskens was talking. Din began to translate for the two of them. "The krayt dragon lives there. It's an abandoned sarlacc pit."

"Abandoned? I've lived on Tatooine all my life and there's no such thing as an abandoned sarlacc pit," Vanth remarked, taken aback by the proclamation. 

"I think the dragon ate the sarlacc," Din shifted in the dirt slightly, Cobb's head listing slightly at the suggestion. Sarlaccs were enormous, the idea of the pinnacle predator on Tatooine being bested was disquieting. Below, the bantha was secured to a posting near the entrance, the trap-layer shouting into the abyss to wake the beast. "They have studied its digestive cycle for decades. They feed it to make its sleep cycle last longer." Rumbling like thunder on the horizon, the ground beneath them shuddered, even up on the rise which they laid prone against.

Sand billowed up like a rogue wave, rising to reveal a gaping maw that followed, chasing not the quietly standing bantha, but the shrieking and running Tusken. Activity attracted it and the Tusken's fear led the krayt dragon directly toward it. With little effort, the creature swallowed the humanoid and sank back into its void. A squeak behind them indicated that the child had ducked away in fear, the other Tuskens shocked into silence as a routine drop had resulted in a death.

Din cleared his throat. "Seems they're open for new ideas."

Drawing away from the den to regroup and consider their method of attack, Ciri bowed heads with him. "What's a sarlacc?" she whispered quietly, clearly worried that someone might overhear them. 

"Carnivorous creatures that live in pits. They live for thousands of years and do not reach maturity until about 30,000. Once they burrow themselves in, they devour whatever is unfortunate enough to fall in. Hundreds of meters in height - if you ever see one above ground - which is unlikely. They've got a massive mouth with a beaked tongue, several tentacle-like appendages, and many stomachs," he explained.

"Ah, sounds adorable," she nodded slowly. "So whatever ate it..."

Must be massive. 

"We're dealing with some sort of leviathan," if he didn't know better, he'd think she sounded almost excited. "A real... monster hunt."

"Earth had nothing of comparable size?"

"No way, not even close. We had whales which were the largest animals, but they lived in oceans and were peaceful. Largest predators we have-" she considered it for a moment, tapping her foot idly. "Maybe a shark - a huge toothy fish - but on land it'd be a polar bear. And they only stand maybe... four heads taller than you on their hind legs. Everything in this galaxy is super sized and much more dangerous."

"You fought the ice saber on your own, amongst other things," he reminded her duly. 

"I didn't fight a kriffing dragon!"

"Kriff?" he smiled beneath his helmet.

"This place is growing on me... Looks like they want to talk to us," she nodded her head in the direction of the Tuskens who had set up a few bones and rocks in a mini diorama. Growing on her? She was Mandalorian and filled those boots up better than he could have ever dreamed. Even if she lacked knowledge on the galaxy, she’d learn it just like the rest.

Two rocks leaned against one another acted as the mouth of the cave, followed by the skull of a serpentine animal as the krayt dragon. Other bones laid in its wake, trailing the path that would be the length of the creature. Compared to the cave, the beast was as Ciri had suggested - of monstrous proportions. 

"That's got to be wrong. Is this to scale?" Vanth asked, leering down at the display with mild worry hastening his speech. 

Din was also just as displeased, but they'd already promised to help in exchange for the armor. Seemed they were going to be paying a mighty heft price in exchange for the beskar'gam. "Yes, they're confirming that's how large it is," he revealed, staring at the plans as the Tuskens hooted and spoke to him. 

Ciri crouched on one knee and tapped the armor on her leg. "We're gonna need a bigger boat," she grumbled beneath her breath, not specifically to anyone, but Din caught it nonetheless. Must've been another earth reference. "Skin is thick, blasters won't do us much good. Given the size of this thing, explosives are our only options and that's if we can lure it out of the den long enough. Thing's not stupid, else it wouldn't have survived to grow this big."

Despite her lack of knowledge on krayt dragons, Din agreed. She seemed to be able to rationalize just as well as him, based on her own expertise of hunts - most of which had been with crude weapons. He noticed the glint of a beskad on her back beneath the cloak, smiling lightly to himself as she'd accepted that weapon but not a lightsaber. 

"We don't have enough people for this," Vanth realized, counting the scattered pebbles that made up the Tuskens' own clan. 

Din turned to the chieftain and spoke, more stones being dropped to put the odds in their favor. 

"Where'd the reinforcements come from?" Cobb asked anxiously.

"I volunteered your village," Din admitted, much to the other man's disdain.

A strange noise came out of Ciri's vocoder, almost like a laugh, but she stifled it to save the poor man his pride. "There's still enough daylight to make it back to Freetown if we hurry," she pointed out, clearing her throat slightly to not sound amused and more professional. She'd counted. 

Impressed again by the medic's attention to detail, he duly reminded himself that she had been in the military back on earth for 10 years before they'd met. Of course she'd pay attention to everything around her, it was just easy to forget since most people weren't so anal retentive about such meager details. He wondered if she counted her paces too.

"Right..." Vanth pushed up off the ground, a slight tenseness in his shoulders as he gazed out amongst the horizon with one sun still high at the pinnacle of the sky and the other setting. "Let's double back then."

Returning to where they'd docked their speeders amongst the Tusken Raider camp, Din assured the chieftain that he'd sway the villagers to unite with his people in order to slay the dragon. Even if the Tuskens were coarse, pillaging people, they were always true to their word. Ciri slid back in front of him on the bike, not half as devious as she had been before, clearly thinking about the mission than setting him on edge. Even if she wasn't trying, he was lulled by the warmth between his legs and the press of her rump into his groin. He could get used to this.

By nightfall they were back in Freetown, Cobb Vanth stepping away to gather his people in the cantina. Ciri ordered a snort of spotchka, leaning against the bar, the dim lights illuminating her cobalt beskar, a richer, deeper hue than his own raw silver. The copper of her visor accentuated the hue, her midnight kute appearing almost black. Even beneath the armor, the curve of her hips was prominent, her lean pear-shaped figure attractive as it bore the beskar'gam. She only lifted her helmet enough to sip the drink, his eyes catching the scar on her upper lip as she pulled it back down - noticing that he was staring. 

He knew a smartass remark was coming, but before she had the chance, villagers were beginning to file in. A soft breath, almost a laugh, parted his lips as she turned back to her drink and let whatever quip she had on the back of her throat, die. Eventually, Vanth followed last, the helmet tucked beneath his arm as the two Mandalorians juxtaposed him. 

"Everyone, everyone-" Vanth quieted them, waiting until the last slip of conversation simpered away. "I'd like to introduce you two the Mandalorians-" he didn't have names for them and thus, gestured in their direction. A few shrewd looks were tossed their way, some astonished and awed, and some others... well, they were glancing between Din and Ciri, leaving him to assume that they'd been in the cantina during their 'reunion'. 

"I've heard of them. Heard the stories," the bartender spoke up from behind them, but a slightly mischievous look told Din more.

"Then you'd know how good they are at killing," Vanth affirmed, turning back to the room. "The Mandos are here to claim the armor I have-" a few disgruntled huffs and mutterings followed. "-We've had issues of our own with the krayt dragon's raids on our farm animals and the breaking and consummation of our mining equipment. Who knows how long it is before the dragon turns its attention to sentient beings... maybe even the school." People did not like to consider that and had been repressing such ideas. "The Mandalorians are willing to help us slay the leviathan in exchange for the armor."

A fair deal by more than half, considering how large the dragon actually was. Would've been easier just to shoot Cobb and be done with it. But the honorable path was typically not the easy path. Din knew this too well, glancing toward his partner as he thought about the honorable path. "We can't do it alone," Vanth treaded carefully, sweeping his hazel eyes across the crowd. "The Sand People are willing to help us."

Immediate disapproval rippled over the locals, his helmet picking up on the fury, wrath, and distaste. Most of Tatooine's inhabitants felt this way about the Tuskens, so it wasn't unexpected. 

"The Sand People?" one man stood up, jeering in Vanth's direction. "They're monsters raiding our mines. Have you forgotten that six of our own were killed less than a year ago? How could you suggest such a thing?"

Cobb tried not to flinch under the accusation, but Din knew the man was swallowing a considerable amount of pride because he felt this was their best chance. "The Tusken Raiders are brutal people. However, they have not survived for thousands of years in the Dune Sea because they were weak-willed. Despite how coarse they may seem, they keep their promises. The Sand People are willing to stand by your side in battle and not attack the town unless one of you breaks the peace. In exchange, they want the krayt dragon's carcass and ichor," Din voiced, eyes snapping toward him. It was easier for him to take the brunt of their searing glares. After all, he'd be gone after the mission, not Vanth.

Soft conversation lilted between the people, rolling the idea around in their heads, considering that the dragon could swallow their entire, puny town on a whim. Eventually, they agreed, seeing no other option - especially if it bought them freedom from the raids. Rather than getting another night in the cantina with Ciri and Grogu, they began assembling explosives and munitions that the village had. While more than Sorgan, the far removed, rural town had mostly what they used in their mines to clear paths. Such charges could do considerable damage to the dragon, but only if strung up and applied correctly.

Into the night, he helped arrange the parts, Ciri flanking others and considering what might be needed in response to those who might become injured. Slipping into their own niches, the Mandalorians were harried by the nervous villagers. Their fear was natural, none of them were soldiers and Vanth had been protecting them for a while. With the assurances from Cobb that the medic mando would be certain to take care of them, Din counted the explosives numerous times. Being calm was most important and both Mandalorians spoke with steady, even tones - not hinting at any nerves they might possess for the hunt. 

By dawn, the Tusken Raiders had arrived to help chauffer the materials on their banthas, which were to be used as bait. One shell was dropped, causing a villager to explode in fury, yelling at the Tusken who hadn't done it intentionally. Vanth broke up the fight, insisting that it had been an accident, before the tense atmosphere calmed for a little longer.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Ciri muttered beside him as they observed the preparations, her arms crossed. 

"As do I," Din told her honestly, nervous that this ramshackle plan would go off without a hitch. His eyes stole to her abdomen, subconsciously wondering if their evening together had resulted in a child. It was too early to tell, but he worried nonetheless. 

"I'll be certain to take care of any of those who fall, I've got plenty of supplies to see to all of them," Ciri acknowledged, having not noticed where he was staring. "Just... don't do anything stupid."

"Stupid?" he repeated, grinning beneath his helmet. 

"Or reckless," she amended. "I know how you think."

"The beast will fall, one way or another."

"I know and that's why I worry."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lil more smut at the end for ya.

_"All we have decide is what to do with the time that is given to us."_

* * *

They were standing in the sandy field that led up to the imposing brown stoned mountain, a shadow casting across the scape and glaring down upon them as the Tuskens tightened their ballistae, training them into place as the last of the preparations were made before the battle. A battle with a freaking titan. Ciri had gleaned this from the moment it'd slithered into Freetown, astonished by the impressive maw barely parting before swallowing the yak sized bantha with little effort. Why Vanth was so startled that the thing was as big as the mountain, she couldn't say. If he'd seen it so many times before that, she would have assumed that he'd comprehend the severity of his position before this. Freetown was a delicious meal waiting to be gobbled up like turkey on Thanksgiving.

Forming a horseshoe array behind the ballistae, she paced anxiously, her legs churning beneath her as her mind ran down all the possibilities that awaited them. Of course, the worst ones started - the leviathan pounding against their defenses and just swallowing them all without an afterthought - at the forefront. Despite the battles she had seen, the hunts she had been on, Ciri still worried about people getting hurt. The feeling was natural, she reminded herself, the lump in the back of her throat as she saw the villagers and worried that they'd make a mistake due to their lack of training. Even in the face of having training, she worried incessantly about Din Djarin. He was the best warrior she'd ever have the luxury of encountering and her heart squeezed each time he went into battle.

Taking her position, amongst those about to draw the beast out of its den, she thought vaguely of the Monster Hunter video games. Stand tall and don't balk. The villagers were going to look to those dressed in beskar'gam first and if any of them betrayed their fear, their ranks would disintegrate. Fear was natural, just how you handled it was the key. Ciri had the regiment to see through the haze, to comprehend how to act on the impulse to freeze up in the face of such danger. There was no fight or flight, only fight. Tilting her visor in the direction of the entrance, she gave a few nearby villagers nods of encouragement.

Beneath a rut of sand, dozens of explosive charges had been buried, as close as they could get to the cave without attracting the slumbering monster's attention. Still, Ciri thought it was a considerable distance out and even if they all saw it as a mindless creature, even animals could be smarter than sentients gave them credit for. 

"Tow the line," Ciri called, walking in the front ranks amongst villagers who hummed nervously. A thick leather strap had been adjusted tight over her shoulder, Din's Amban rifle in her hands as she prowled. He was up on the rise, to get a better look before he'd go into action if needed. She had refused to let the villagers and Tuskens wait below by themselves. Lead from the front. 

Finally, the plan was put into action, a trio of Tuskens trolloping up toward the entrance, echoing war cries into the chasm, which echoed back for the briefest moment before being swallowed by an abysmal and guttural roar. The noise made the hairs on the back of her neck plank up, but she kept tall, noticing the palpable fear playing across the villagers' shocked faces. The trembling came first, the mighty titan's movement making the sand shift around their boots, before the rippling taupe wave followed. Cresting like a landshark, Ciri blinked a few times as the enormous gullet was revealed in full view of her eyes. Watching it eat the bantha back in Freetown had not given her a good look.

Now, she saw the enormity of it, the snaggle teeth that were longer than her arms, a torpedo shaped head as large as a submarine. The beast was primordial, tan, and with pebbled skin that was much too thick for any weapons that they possessed. Ciri's stomach dropped into her feet, realizing now how ill prepared they were for this. 

Don't show it.

Turrets began to fire, whistling through the air with the arrows, lodging into the jaw of the dragon as it slithered forward with terrible, serpentine grace. The bolts were little more than toothpicks in comparison to the ginormous krayt's girth and hide, only scratching the surface and pestering it like mosquitoes. While they did not hinder the dragon, the creature was smart enough to know that this wasn't worth it. Ciri comprehended, raising the rifle and sliding her leg back to brace her stance before firing, pelting the dragon on the tip of nose. Her shoulder locked back from the kick, finger releasing the trigger slowly as it clicked back into place. 

"Keep it from withdrawing!" she shouted, the villagers around her slipping out of their stupor to draw blasters to begin sending a volley of crimson rounds toward the goliath. In the haze, she saw that a lot of them were missing despite the giant target, making her wish that they'd spent time trying to help the villagers learn how to post better like back on Sorgan. Although, aim wasn't of the utmost importance considering their shots did nothing but annoy the monster.

The Tuskens screeched, firing slugs similar to bullets, and trying to keep their grip on the ballistae as the dragon receded. Villagers jumped forward, securing the ropes in a futile attempt to pull the beast out, little more than ants trying to move a mountain. But their work had the intended effect. Eventually, the creature bellowed again, furious by the pestering and charging. Ciri's eyes listed, firing the rifle again, which shattered a tooth. It wasn't close enough. Rearing, the Force hummed a warning in her ears before the dragon's jaw unhinged and it began spewing acid green ichor on the nearest, unfortunate souls. 

From the hissing that ensued, Ciri didn't need to be told that it was corrosive as the Tuskens nearest began screaming. She swept the rifle around, saddling it on her back against her jetpack as she sprinted forward, impeded slightly by the soft, sandy ground - the texture reminding her of when she'd tried to run on a beach back in Virginia. Another wave of vomit splattered overhead, Ciri's hands throwing out as the droplets rained down on a throng of villagers. The green mess never hit them, smacking into a dome of invisibility, giving those beneath it the time to splutter out of the way before she tossed it down into the sand. Using the Force in such a manner did not exhaust her dearly, as shielding was amongst one of her strengths. Defense and healing she was good at, using it offensively or to manipulate minds took a moderate amount of effort. So Ciri played the game to her advantage - as a support mechanism, not the frontrunner.

An explosion echoed in her ears, curbed by the pressure stabilizers in her helmet. Even if it didn't hurt her head, the shockwave was enough to cause her to stumble before she could flip down her retinue and assess the damage around them. She could give two flying fucks about the dragon, it was the groaning civilians that had her rapt attention. Locating the first amongst the fallen that was nearest to her, Ciri hooked a gloved hand into the back of his scarves, tugging him through the sand and away from the blast site. Shouts and confusion followed, the formation falling away as the krayt dragon disappeared, injured but not dead. 

"Take a deep breath, you're going to live," Ciri told the young man, no older than 20. The acid had burnt through his pants, soaking the fabric and sinking into his flesh. Reaching back into her pack, she pinged the button on the side, revealing her tools. With dexterous familiarity - in which she'd trained like someone would go through weapon checks on a handgun - she removed her scissors and scalpel. Shearing through the fabric, she exposed the wound. Fortunately, her helmet didn't betray the stench of the flesh, the man paling from shock as she raised her vambrace above the worst where the skin was pitted and slopping away. 

Engaging the bacta spray on her vambrace, she stopped the immediate threat of the ichor eating through anymore of his tissue. The reparative aspect of the medicine started its work, curbing the edge of the excruciating pain the man probably felt. She drew a stim from her pack, injecting the site of the trauma, aware that he'd need a lot more than a simple spray. She washed the wound after, binding it. 

"Take him up higher, he's not going to be able to fight. The bacta reagent will do its work, it just needs time," she snapped at the young woman who had collapsed beside them, holding the boy's hand as tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. Despite the shock that also riddled the young woman, she nodded and helped shoulder the injured civilian before heading toward higher ground. 

The earth shook again, her visor snapping in the direction of the jagged mountain where the krayt dragon burst out like lava from Vesuvius. Her retinue pinged, honing onto a pair of Mandalorians jetting toward the beast, red boxes highlighting their sailing silhouettes. She didn't have the time to worry about Din as another shocked scream brought her back to the reality around her. After helping the first, the other settlers began to realize that she was a healer. 

Most of the wounds were from the acid, requiring bacta spray, though none were quite as bad as first she'd dragged away. Quickly, her resources were becoming exhausted and she noted that she'd need to restock on various materials as she sanitized her scalpel once again. Most were villagers, but a few that passed her hands were Tuskens. Her own opinion wasn't tainted, having not encountered them before this point. Even if the folks from Freetown didn't like them, Ciri knew in the heat of the moment, they didn't care. That's how battle worked. No matter how much you might loathe someone, when you were fighting in the trenches alongside each other, you put aside your differences for the greater good. She saw that amongst the fighters now.

"Maker-" the gasp made her look up from her work for the first time, glaring in the direction that heads were turned. Her jaw dropped as she watched Din taunt the dragon, jetting toward a bantha laden with explosive charges. Despite trying to seem strong for the people around her, a terrified squeak escaped her lips as the dragon swallowed both her lover and the bantha. So much for not doing anything risky. 

She wrapped the arm up tighter than she should have, ignoring the pained screech from the woman as she stumbled to her feet. Nothing could be done, the horror squeezing her heart as the krayt dragon reared and let out a victorious bellow. Her retinue pinged, tracing the jetpack of a Mandalorian as they flew out of the monster's maw. He detonated the charges, the throat of the monster bowling out before it gave way, gore exploding in a bloody rain. Relief stuttered in her throat as the massive body of the dragon thumped to the ground, a tremor quaking the ground as it landed with an enormous puff of sand and debris. 

Din Djarin landed, her legs churning her toward him, aware that the worst cases had been handled and the others could wait as she assessed the damage to her Mandalorian. Ciri erred close to touching him before noticing that he was absolutely coated in ichor and saliva. Faltering, she raked her eyes, trying to see if the acid had cut through the kute and hurt him, but it was too difficult to see. 

"I thought I told you not to be reckless," the first words that escaped her lips, prissy and hot. 

"I'm alive, aren't I?" His arrogance was not appreciated, but Ciri could've cried. The largest monster she'd ever faced and he'd flown right into its gullet. 

"Did you get burned at all, you're absolutely slick with that stuff," she gestured to the coat he wore. 

"Does feel unpleasantly hot in some places," he admitted, making her frown. 

"I'll take a look, just... wipe as much as you can off before it continues to eat through the cloth. It can cause some nasty damage," Ciri offered a clean cloth before spinning on her heel to return toward the outcropping of injured souls. Of course she wanted to strip him down and roam over his skin to make certain that the acid wasn't biting at his handsome, well honed muscles, but she was blisteringly aware that Din wouldn't allow it. He'd insist she help the others and wouldn't remove his beskar'gam without proper privacy. 

So Ciri put her head into her work, listing through the injuries until she'd waned into territory that was almost laugh worthy. "You got a burn from slipping in the sand?" she drawled, attempting not to sound mocking, but her visor tilted toward the middle aged man with annoyance. 

"It's not just a burn," he puffed. "Chafed my entire knee and might've twisted my ankle."

"It's not swollen or twisted," Ciri affirmed, having used the setting in her helmet to scan the man's ankle in question. 

"It hurts! Can't you give me a shot like you did Orvis?"

She didn't know who Orvis was, but she assumed it was someone else she'd treated for a more severe wound and now this man was trying to be lit up with bacta. Having never used it on herself, Ciri was uncertain if the reagent supplied a numbed, euphoric feeling like painkillers such as dilaudid or morphine. Either way, she wasn't falling for it. Bacta was expensive enough and she'd used a lot of it today. 

"No, walk it off, drink some water," Ciri stood up, leaving the man to gripe as she let out an irritated breath. She'd not had to use the Force today, but in exchange she'd be spending a pretty amount of credits to see to topping off her supplies. 

Up on the rise, she found Din sitting by Vanth, the child gurgling at the sight of her as she tromped up. By now, the corpse of the dragon was being scavenged by the Tuskens, the settlers picking up and beginning to prepare for departure. Most of the ichor had been cleaned from his beskar'gam, but her eyes noticed that the fabric of the kute was still damp. 

Cobb stood up, approaching her with his helmet in his hands. "Thank you, I can't even start to express-" he listed toward her, his hazel eyes wide and earnest. 

"I did my job," Ciri dismissed, but her heart warmed at his gratitude. This is what made it worth it, aside from the lives she'd saved and pained that eased - people like Vanth realizing what might've happened had she not been there. "Wouldn't mind sparing us that room in the cantina one more night, would you?"

"The least we can do," Vanth admitted. "The armor-"

"Give it to us tomorrow morning. I think everyone could use a stiff drink and a send off," Ciri waved him off, aware that the marshal would make good on his word. But she wheeled around back on Din, scrutinizing him, fully aware that he couldn't see the shrewd expression on her face. 

Din tilted his visor up innocently, almost as if she'd forgotten the endeavors of the day. Offering nothing more than his infamous silence as she leered at him. Jerking her head in the direction of the speeder bike, she started her way over, curving her fingers over the accelerators before revving the engine in slight indignance. Carrying the child along with him, Din moved with lethargy indicative of feeling some of his wounds more now than he had with the adrenaline of his kill coursing through him. Ciri frowned, feeling him slide up behind her, his fingers coming around her midsection before interlocking. 

There were no butterflies, no excited flutter between her legs as he relinquished control to her. Instead she sent the bike forward, unwilling to spare another moment until she'd checked Din Djarin from helmet to toe in the privacy of a room. Preference dictated that she would have done this in the field, but his own stubbornness got in her way. 

"Slow down-" he growled in her ear, tightening his grip on her almost painful as he was trying not to be sent off the back of the speeder.

"Not until we reach Freetown," she countered obstinately. Jetting across the sand like an arrow, she retraced the path they'd taken twice now, not moving swiftly enough that she couldn't turn. Leaning into her maneuvers, forcing him to move along with her as the village spanned on the horizon. Braking, she drew them to a slow halt in front of the cantina, craning her head back to assess him.

"You're never flying the Crest," Din snarked, almost shakily getting off the bike. Whether it was the corrosive ichor or her driving, she couldn't say, but she sprung up nonetheless, scooping up the child before following him back in. "I'll wash off and-"

"You'll do no such thing," Ciri scolded immediately, shutting the door behind them. "The acid may be reactive to water, remove your armor and kute."

"Ciri-" he complained, his voice puttering lightly in a sigh.

"None of it," she snipped, putting the child on the bed and sliding her pack off. 

Disengaging her helmet, the mild air hit her face for the first time in a couple of days, curling a few stray baby hairs that had plastered to her face from sweat. Immediately, she noticed the terse line in his shoulders, the slight hesitation to reach up and remove his heartplate. Leave it to Djarin to pretend he wasn't hurt. Gritting her teeth, it took every ounce of her patience and fiber to not rip the armor off in fury, but instead carefully helping undo the leather straps as she didn't want to injure him further. 

"Stop it," she warned in a low voice, noticing his slight squirming in the seat. For a man who took all that he wanted from her, he had a nasty habit of getting rather bashful when she had to lay her hands on him for healing. She undid the buttons of his kute, gasping slightly as she pushed the damp material aside on his shoulder. "Din, why didn't you say something?" she breathed, turning to grab her scissors so she could cut the undershirt away. His tanned skin was in an abysmal state, the worst of the ichor biting through his right collar and burning a deep 3rd degree burn in his flesh. How he hadn't passed out from the pain, she didn't know. A few other spots were dappled with chemical scorches, but none were quite as bad as the one above his pectorals. 

"It could wait."

Now his complaint about her driving made more sense. He had been in excruciating pain. " _Wait_?" the word popped out of her mouth in a tart, sardonic laugh as she pinned him with her grey-blue eyes. But she waited to reprimand him. Instead she carefully cut his shirt away, exposing his chest which had a slick sheen of sweat, muscles trembling slightly as he resisted the urge to go into shock or throw up. Stubborn, idiot man - trying to seem tougher than he needed to. 

She didn't have strong enough bacta to work this, but then again Ciri had intended on ailing his own wounds immediately. Stepping forward, she pressed a gloved palm to his wound, a faint ghostly green lighting around her hand as she healed the injury - repairing the dermal layer and the corroded muscular tissue. While her powers could work miracles, they still left scars. Din's repaired flesh was slightly off color, a shade lighter than his natural skin tone - a cloudy blotch against his collar as a faint reminder of his fight with the krayt dragon. Her fingers trailed down, brushing the smaller spots and wiping them away with her magic. Perhaps if she weren't so angry, she might have admired his physique more. 

Instead, she whipped her eyes back up to him, a haughty glare leveled toward his dark visor. "Don't ever do that again."

"Fight?" Din was still rather amused despite the sharpness in her voice. "I can't make that promise, cyare-" he reached up and tucked some of her hair behind her ear.

"No, that's not what I mean," Ciri corrected, brushing his hand away to dispel the calm he was trying to subject her to. Oh no, she wasn't done. He was going to get an earful. After all, she knew that both of them would be in the field until it was no longer possible, she wasn't asking him to forsake his job and way. "I mean that you shouldn't be lying to me when you're actually injured. Or playing it off. Or making it seem not as bad as it is. I am here to heal you - and you first - not the townsfolk, not the Tuskens, not any random stranger. Of course I'll help them, but my priority is you. I don't understand why you're trying to seem so macho. Imagine if I didn't have the ability to heal with the Force. I'm low on supplies, I might not have been able to patch this up-" she gestured to where the acid burn had been. "I know you're not used to someone else watching your back - being there for you - but I'm here now and we need base rules for our own playbook when we're out in the field. This will be the last time that you lie to me about how severe your wounds are, Din Djarin."

He sat quietly for a moment, contemplating what she had said as she turned away and began discarding the ruined shirt, tossing the shirt of his kute into the ion cleaner. Grogu garbled at her, almost as if agreed with her that his father was an idiot who didn't like to admit when he felt weak. The poor boy had probably watched Din cauterize too many wounds while she was gone, refusing even the baby's insistence to heal. However, Ciri was not as quick to weaken from healing and her own hands would always be ready to steal away any trauma Djarin had. It just vexed her that he played it off - just like back on Sorgan - despite how much their partnership had progressed.

"I'm sorry."

The magic words that she had been wanting to hear. They only just took the edge off her bitterness, but she did spare him a glance back through half-lidded eyes. Placing a hand on her hip, she faced him, waiting for more.

He didn't like to talk about things like this, but she wasn't going to back down now. "You're right, I'm not used to having someone here to help me," he admitted, taking his time as he spoke, glancing down at his hands as he hunched over in the chair. "Or that I have to worry about what someone else might feel. I've been on my own for a long time... before the both of you. It never crossed my mind I might have a partner who I could trust. I've never..." he faltered, but finally tilted his helmet up toward her. "I've never let anyone touch me in the same way I've let you. I've always dealt with my injuries myself."

Ciri let out a low sigh, her anger sliding out of her with the breath of air. Her shoulders relaxed as she pulled the now clean shirt out of the ionizer, scrutinizing it where the ichor had seeped through. "Well, you'd best get used to it now. I'll not repeat myself about my terms," she insisted, thinking duly of Nevarro and how he'd refused help there too. How he'd made it out was a mystery.

"They're not... unreasonable," Din grumbled. "You did well today."

"I didn't do 'slaying the krayt dragon' well, but thank you," she sniffed, wondering if he was trying to get in her good graces. There was nothing to forgive, she just wanted him to not be such an idiot.

"That wasn't your job. You were where you needed to be. Your abilities are much stronger than I remember," he was changing the subject, but Ciri didn't mind the praise. "You stopped the ichor from hitting a lot of people."

"Well, I told you I learned a few things. Part of my time on Krownest was learning how to use the Force to my advantage and play to my strengths. I'm better at playing defense than offense," she picked up Grogu, who was blabbing on the ground. 

"And you're not tired? After all of that and then healing me?"

"It'll take a lot more than that to wear me thin," she assured him, rubbing the child's back before retrieving some rations to feed him. The kid was disdainful at what she offered, but was hungry enough that it didn't matter. "Slow down, you'll choke-" she chastised, forgetting that he'd swallowed a frog whole on Arvala-7. 

"A lot more?" Din repeated in that parrot manner that he did, but his voice was deep and suggestive, sending a prickle down her spine. 

Ciri lifted her chin defiantly, sliding her eyes over him, but offered a prissy frown, remembering that the entire cantina had heard their encounter two nights ago. Just the thought made her cheeks burn. It wasn't as if she was not interested, in fact, just watching him disappear into the krayt dragon's mouth - the initial horror - followed by her relief... aside from her upset, the counter point was that he'd slain the krayt dragon and that was _incredibly_ attractive. Aside from the rest of him, half of which was bared for her to see fully for the first time - without a blindfold blocking her scrupulous stare. 

"He's a bundle of energy, I don't think he's going down anytime soon," Ciri pointed out, tearing her eyes away as the child garbled and talked in indistinguishable words. Having been sidelined today, he was clearly quite pleased to have another quiet evening with his guardians. There were a few methods she could try to use. "You can go wash up now, unless there's more ichor in places I didn't check." She hadn't intended for the comment to be suggestive, but the man took it that way as he tilted his visor down toward his trousers.

"I wouldn't mind letting you look-"

"Just call me if you need help," she told him dryly, redirecting her attention back to the child. A soft huff passed his vocoder as he stood up, removing the rest of his beskar'gam before trotting over to the washroom. She doubted that the ichor had burned him elsewhere, but her face still burned. Touching her own cheek, she rubbed it in frustration - not with him, but because of her own inability to not get flustered around him and the deep seated need for his attention. It felt wonderful getting it, feeling his obscured eyes on her, his commendations for the day. But Ciri wasn't the type to let her head get too big and quietly accepted the praise. She had gotten enough of it back on earth during her years in the service, but hearing it from Din made her insides flip. 

While she was irritated with herself and her lack of leash over her emotions, it was the first time - perhaps ever - that anyone had made her feel that way. She'd never been... engaged with Erik in this manner. There had just been a warm coasting feeling, but never the incessant burning of her heart, the raw excitement, and the fluttering butterflies that made her scowl at her own schoolgirlish behavior. Even if she chided herself, she hoped this feeling never disappeared. 

"Want to play a game?" she asked Grogu, pushing all her emotions down as not to neglect the baby. They'd had a long conversation a couple of days ago about their separation so that she could explain why she had to leave. As she expected, he was upset, but more so happy at being reunited with her. The Forcebond between them snapped back into place and because she was happy, so was he, brimming with excitement. 

He raised his hands, curious and plying.

"You haven't been getting much training since I've been away," she heard the shower start, picking up the Ewok doll. "We're going to pick right back up where we left off. I know a lot more things now and it's about time you started your own training." He might not become Mandalorian, but she couldn't do him the injustice of slacking on the Force department. Even with a year passed, he looked little different from when she'd first met him two years ago. A pit formed in her tummy; worry. She'd acknowledged before that the kid wasn't growing at a normal pace and now that it'd been a year it was more difficult to ignore. 

What was she going to do?

Ignoring this until she'd grown old and he was barely more than a pre-adolescent would just be delaying the inevitable. But Ciri didn't know if the baby could handle being separated from the two of them after gleaning his terrible history. They were the first good thing that had happened to him in decades. 

_I'll raise him. Unless somehow we encounter his own kind, I'll raise him until that job is passed down to my own children,_ she reasoned, wagging the doll in her hands. "You know where I'm going with this. Take him."

Grogu didn't have to try too hard, snatching it right from her hand with fervor and confidence. She tried not to smile, but engaged in the tug o' war with the Force. He was strong, their game resolving to silence as the both of them fixated on the toy which floated midair between them without moving. The 'fresher door opened and Grogu lost focus at the noise, cooing and turning, sending the doll flying right into Ciri's face as it snapped completely into her control with no opposing leverage to stop it. 

Blinking a few times, she picked up the discarded toy and patted his head. She hadn't tried to overpower him, simply applying more and more power to see how long he could last and at what level of strength. Laughing slightly, she glanced back up and caught her heart in her throat. Djarin was leaving the washroom in just a towel and his helmet, his broad tanned chest layered with a thin sheet of dark curls, a trailing guiding down his abs and disappearing beneath the curve of the towel. He had the most impressive shoulders, marred now by the cloudy scar, and marked by other, older scars. Much of him was covered in scars, but they were faded for the most part. 

Funny how she'd thought he was similar to the Navy SEAL that she'd had a fling with, but couldn't have been more wrong. He was perfect; each line and mark on his skin, his honed frame, height, tanned skin and dark hair... She realized she was staring, which felt like an oddly rude thing to do despite how close they'd been. He was typically private about his own body and what he revealed, but then again, he'd stepped out of the 'fresher in just a towel, so obviously he wanted her to look. Heat rose in a few places aside from her face, Ciri turning her eyes back down to Grogu in a futile attempt to play off her chagrin. 

"Did you notice anything else?" Din asked innocently, his voice warm despite the modulator.

"Not upon initial observations," she told him, as professionally as she could manage, after clearing her throat, voice still cracking slightly. She cursed herself silently. The child blinked a few times, lethargic from their game and crooning up toward her. She slipped a hand underneath and scooped him up, careful not to tuck him into the cold beskar. This had been the intended effect, stepping around lightly, rocking him as she distracted herself and devoted her full attention to him as those bright brown eyes began to close. 

Setting him into his pram, she admired the baby for a few moments before reaching up for the strap of her chestplate. A set of hands, not her own, came up to help her. 

"I can-" she objected. 

"I know you can. You seem exhausted, just let me help," he interrupted.

At this point, she was, having played the game with the kid for a while. Nodding slightly, she let him help arrange the beskar'gam neatly beside his own, rubbing the aching back of her neck. 

"Go sit down, I'll be right over," Din suggested, puzzling her. 

"Uhm, ok," she sat on the edge of the bed, unlacing her boots, tipping them over to pour out sand. She snorted softly, not at all surprised that it'd managed to get inside. A shower would be a necessity once again. 

The lights went out, her head listing up in confusion as she squinted, trying to see what was going on. Due to the sandstorms that could whip through Tatooine, the windows had thick shutters that had been drawn closed, plunging her into darkness similar to Ka'ra. Her senses sharpened, keenly aware that someone was moving behind her. 

"Udesiir," (Relax) Din's voice was near her ear, but different - without the modulator. 

"I don't have the blindfold," she warned him.

"It's dark, you can't see anything," he countered, drawing his thumbs into the blades of her shoulder. Ciri jumped, not only startled by how deep his fingers grooved, but because he was so close and without his helmet. Her shoulders were tight, probably as stiff as when she'd first given him a massage. Trapped up in the small starfighter, there hadn't been much room to stretch out and prevent the strain from developing. He pushed her hair over her shoulders, digging into her skin more.

Ciri let out a low moan, before his fingers curved into a particularly bad knot which made her yelp. 

"Stop moving-"

"I can't - that hurts-" but it was a beneficial hurt, the muscles protesting against being worked mostly because she had tensed. She trembled slightly as his fingers pushed deeper and abruptly spasmed, flailing as he pressed the same knot. Despite her movement, he still had a strong grip on her kute to keep her from slithering away.

"Can't take a little of your own medicine?" he taunted.

"You're stronger than I am," she protested; silently adding that his hands were large compared to her shoulders. It didn't take him half as much effort as it did her when the roles were reversed. Pulling her back up into a sitting position he curved into her collar making her sigh.

"Tomorrow," he started. "What is our plan?"

A fair question, one she had set aside until this point. "I need to report into Vizsla, give him an update on my status and what I found here," she informed him. "And we still need to get the beskar'gam from Vanth."

"After that."

"I'm not leaving again, if that's what you're asking," Ciri assured him. "I think... it depends on what you wish to do as well. I was working with Vizsla and the others on Concord Dawn to locate other Mandalorians. I traced Vanth's lead here, which is why we bumped into each other. They need me to work as a smith -- ahhh, ow, ow, ow-" she twitched as he moved into her lats. 

"And their intention is to retake Mandalore? The planet is decimated, unlivable," Din pointed out.

"It's not," Ciri told him, recalling what Tarre had told her. "It's not beyond repair."

"It's been strip mined, the entire integrity of the planet is at risk due to how much beskar was mined. The atmosphere is not breathable either."

She contemplated this for a while until this point. Why would Tarre show her Mandalore only for it to be a lost hope? Why would she have joined ranks with the Mandalorians for nothing other than false expectations? "I don't have answers in regard to that. Even if Mandalore is a lost cause, its people are not. Those who live in the protected cities are still under the scrutiny of the Empire. And there's no Mand'alor-"

"Who will become Mand'alor? If we help them, who is it that we'd be putting our vote toward?"

She didn't know. "We'll just have to find out and make our decision. Our duty to the Resol'nare dictates that we fight for Mandalore. Right now that includes finding more Mandalorians and pointing them in the right direction to Concord Dawn," pausing slightly. "Tarre said that there needs to be someone who can unite both sides - those who want peaceful lives and the others who want to live by the Resol'nare and take a Creed of their own. He said it shouldn't be one way or the other."

She heard him sigh quietly behind her, the complicatedness of their future relying entirely on the fight ahead. Part of her was also wary, somewhat wishing that they could return to the Razor Crest and take up arms together as bounty hunters and just do jobs. That way, they could travel and keep themselves busy before something like pregnancy caught up with her and they had to settle down. But Din was a man of honor and as much as he seemed reserved in going to Concord Dawn, she knew he would do his duty to their people. It was also doubtful that Vizsla would allow her to scamper off when her skills as a smith were priceless. No one could access the beskar in Ka'ra without her.

"You'll need to go back to Krownest eventually," he comprehended. 

"Eventually. Once we have enough mandos to push the Imps off the planet..." she tilted her head slightly. "Aside from being cold, Krownest is a beautiful planet. Ka'ra is... large. It could definitely use a little more sprucing up but-"

"Are you inviting me to move in with you?" he laughed lightly, perceiving her suggestion before she'd even managed to ask.

"I'm just suggesting that we should both stay on Krownest," Ciri huffed, cheeks tingling slightly. "If I'm expecting a lot more mandos to come and go, it'll need more quarters for those in need of repairs to stay - because you can't enter or leave unless the stars are shining. There's a chamber that I've been using-"

"That we could use," he filled in. 

"If you'd like that," she grumbled. "Only when we need to be there. Like a... base of operations. I can't leave the forge entirely, it's a part of me now." Ciri knew the moment she'd been shown Ka'ra that she would never abandon it. Whilst the dank, mountain temple was cool and cavernous, with the proper work it could be a refuge. Although, she doubted she'd be willing to share the pools beneath the chamber she had been utilizing to sleep in. Paz had mentioned it once or twice before, putting lights inside, benches by the forge. With cots, tables, and other items - it could be turned into an outpost that was under her governance. Afterall, she was the gatekeeper.

"How big is it?"

"Oh," she considered it, having not used several chambers since they were empty and out of the way. Honestly, the place reminded her of dwarven ruins. "At least... dozen chambers. Three large ones surrounding the forge, stairs leading to down below. The three upper chambers all have very high ceilings - almost as tall as the mountain is since it's hollowed out, with large columns that could use some reinforcement from settling of the stone. The flanking chambers are shaped in horseshoe around the forge. The middle tier still had high ceilings, but not nearly as high. There's a few smaller chambers, but I used the largest in the back, since I could also practice in there with plenty of space." She should have been more creeped out by the dark corners of the temple, but none of it had felt dangerous to her. Considering it now, it was definitely a Ghost Adventure type hovel, untouched by mortals for centuries.

"Could be a home one day," Din admitted, warming her heart when he said that. His hand slipped around the small of her back and against her abdomen, pressing into her stomach as he let out a soft breath in her ear. She leaned back into him, closing her eyes, the clean smell of soap mixed with leather, gunoil, and blasterfire. 

"It needs a lot of work," Ciri was still rational despite the comfort she felt with her head lolling against his shoulder. "Materials. Furniture-" she laughed, thinking of how strange it might be to be standing in full beskar'gam looking at couches for a frozen temple on Krownest. "But there's still so much to see-"

"One thing at a time, cyare," he reprimanded gently, her toes curling at the sound of that name on his tongue; the acknowledgement and commitment. Then again, they were talking about a home and a family, cyare seemed to fit right. "The galaxy will be there tomorrow."

"So-" she brought them back to the head of the conversation. "I need to reach out to Paz. It would be smart if either we kept looking for other mandos or returned to Concord Dawn. Really depends on what is going on."

"Your ship is here, isn't it?"

She'd nearly forgotten. "Ah... yup. It's just a starfighter, but I'll have to see about getting someone to grab it. I can fly it to Mos Eisley in the morning."

"I have to return the bike to Peli."

"I... maybe can fit it on the ship. There's a copilot seat, so if you held Grogu, the trip back to Mos Eisley would be cut to a fraction of what you were originally anticipating," she suggested.

"And let you fly? After how you drove the speeder?"

"I'm a great pilot, thank you very much. Just because you and Paz can't see my genius doesn't discredit my talent," she sniffed indignantly. 

"You're an amazing healer, but a pilot..." he teased slowly.

"You haven't seen me fly!" she huffed. "I'm good at it!"

"Talent in the cockpit isn't reliant on how many loops you can fly without throwing up."

"I haven't thrown up once from my own flying. I think I've gotten Paz rather close though-" she snickered, thinking back to their dogfight on Concord Dawn shortly before her arrival to Tatooine. 

"On Concord Dawn... did you make friends?" he sounded earnest and curious, a softer more human side as she leaned against him in bed and held a simple conversation. 

"Comrades mostly, but I got along best with a female mando called Blairn. She's smart, knows how to work a lot of tech, computers, and probably the best pilot out of all of us. Not as risky of a pilot as I am, but she knows what she's doing," Ciri revealed, considering the others as well. "Wren lives on Krownest with his clan, but they're counted amongst our numbers. I would consider him a friend as well. Paz too... he's the only one who really vouched for me, especially in regards to the Creed."

"How many are there as of right now?"

Ciri had to count the names in her head. "Uh, 15 including the two of us. 19 if you include Clan Wren."

His silence told her that those weren't the best odds. She knew it too, but that's all they had, which was why it was so important that they found other mandos. "The Armorer on Nevarro told me that others escaped off planet. There may be others who follow the Way."

"Then we'll find them," Ciri said confidently. "How... How did you make it off Nevarro?"

Din was quiet, so quiet that she thought he wasn't going to talk anymore. Her stomach dropped slightly, aware that he'd seen things in his life that were too difficult to share - just as Emma Mars had. "A droid healed me," he said finally.

"You let a droid heal you?" Ciri was flabbergasted. The same man that had shot up Peli's little mushroom head droids had let a freaking droid heal him? Thinking of the vision she'd had, she said, "That hunter droid too, wasn't it?"

"Kuiil reprogrammed it to be a nurse droid."

"Pft, you hear something new everyday," she muttered to herself, snorting slightly at the idea that the terrifying droid could be nurturing and had healed him. "How is Kuiil? Cara?"

"Kuiil is dead."

Silence slipped over them and she sensed the aching from him, the guilt rolling off in a wave. Sitting up, she turned, unable to see his face in the darkness, but she could sense where it was with the Force. Her palms slipped alongside his cheeks, facial hair tickling her skin, as she drew her thumbs along the upper ridge of his cheekbones. "He was a good person," Ciri started calmly. "When he went with you, he understood the risks. Now he is marching far away, but he shall not be forgotten. I pray for my fallen comrades, perhaps you should too."

He moved his hands up, placing them on top of hers, leaning his head slightly into her right palm. "Never forgotten," he mumbled, turning his head to say it into her hand. "Cara is... she's doing well. We were both cleared with the Guild and she's on Nevarro as a marshal for the New Republic."

"Good," Ciri sighed in relief. "She's not still... weirded out by me, is she?"

"No, not after what the kid did. I think a slight change in your hair color is minor in comparison to Grogu healing Karga. Takes a bit after his mother."

"Mm, maybe with the Force, but I'm quite certain he gets that temper from you," Ciri poked back. "It'll be nice to see her again... Meet this bastard named Karga," she grinned at the thought, despite the fact that he couldn't see her face. "After everything... we could be bounty hunters."

"You, a bounty hunter?"

"Wow, don't make it sound as if I'm a damsel in distress. I'd leave all the heavy lifting for you, but I do know how to shoot, how to use my beskad, amongst other things. In fact, I think I know the more vital points on a person than you do."

"Not all races are the same. You know all the vital points on a human."

"Humanoid, alien - look we all bleed, red or some other color, take a beskad to the face and I doubt you'll be getting up."

"You wouldn't do that," he chuckled softly. "You don't even like shooting people."

"It would be bounty hunting, not assassinations. I'm not opposed to roughing someone up if they're being disorderly. And I'll always shoot if my own are threatened. If it comes down to the death of a stranger or death of you or Grogu, it's not a hard decision. I may value life, but I don't weigh it more than those I care about," Ciri informed him, recalling Tarre's words that despite her dislike of taking a life, she'd never second guess doing it if it protected either Grogu or Din. "Plus, I can't trust you not to get yourself into trouble. Even when I'm beside you, you manage to fly into the mouth of a leviathan and nearly give me a heart attack."

"I knew what I was doing," he grunted.

"Which is my point. I can't leave you on your own, you giant manchild. You need someone with an even head on their shoulders to remind you not to be so impulsive."

"And that person would be you?"

Those very words miffed her, despite it being a joke. Even when he was jesting, he tended to keep his voice so even that it was difficult to tell if he was being serious or not. She let out a disdainful noise, crossing her arms like an embittered child who hadn't gotten what they wanted. "I'm not impulsive, so yes." Except when she was flying. She was definitely an on the whim pilot.

"I act on instinct, not impulse."

"Mmmmm," she tsked at him doubtfully. He had the training, the muscle memory, and the subliminal instinct in which he was referring to. In tandem, he was highly perceptive, intelligent, and adaptive. But not impulsive? " _Sure_ ," she drawled sarcastically.

He hooked a finger in the front of her kute, dragging her forward slightly. Ciri realized then that he'd not put anything on and was sitting on the bed in his towel still, her hands grazing the cotton, heart leaping slightly as he brought her forward. 

Before he could do anything, she felt a devilish smile curve her mouth. "Is this going to be on impulse or instinct?" she asked haughtily.

"Neither," he breathed, face just scant millimeters from hers, breath fanning her face. "I was already planning on doing this."

He snared her lips, shadows lengthening as she flopped down against the bed. The towel fell away, but she couldn't see anything, only feeling the heat of his body above her as he caged her against the comforter. Part of her still felt sweaty and gross, but it seemed that Djarin didn't mind, eager pressing his mouth to hers, stealing her very soul from her chest as he used one of his hands to roam the front of her kute, dexterously undoing the buttons as Ciri's fingers curled up into his hair which was still damp. 

Trying to catch her breath, his mouth plied at the corner of hers, a new fixation of his - the scar on her upper lip. One of her hands coasted down his neck, nails digging slightly into his skin as his hand made it through the fabric and against her bare flesh. He chuckled against her mouth. "You haven't been wearing anything under this," he commented, sounding almost impressed. 

"You ripped and cut half of my ensemble up," Ciri retorted smartly, gasping as his hand pressed beneath her belt. She hadn't gotten the chance to go out to her ship and get new underwear or undershirt. Yeah it helped with the clamminess that came with Tatooine's incredibly parched surface, but the crotch of her pants had ridden up uncomfortably a few times. 

"I asked you if you had spare clothes."

"You didn't wait for an answer," she pointed out.

He didn't have a rebuttal for that, instead he broke away for a moment, his breath tickling the hair beside her ear. "You dirty slut, when you pressed into me on the bike-" she recalled when she had done it, having felt rather smug with herself because Din couldn't do anything and it'd caused him to get a boner. "-you had no underwear on." His voice was gritty, low and dangerous, heating between her legs.

"I still don't," she grinned, static crawling down her neck as he finished undoing her belt and thrust a calloused hand against her mound. A soft hum pursed her lips, cruising a hand down the plane of his chest, feeling the curled fronds of his hair, a finger moving down his abs to trace the line that led beneath his hips. 

He gasped slightly, shivering at her touch, trying to distract her by planting kisses on her throat as her hand continued to slither down his muscles, finding a hold on his stiffening manhood. After all, he'd not put anything on so it was much easier for her to touch him than vice versa. Gliding against the soft, velvety skin, his brow bowed against her a soft hiss parting his lips. She drew down his length again before moving up to the hilt, causing him to shudder. 

Regaining sense of himself, Din kissed her again, but there was a slight shift, a lingering tenderness to the bite of his mouth as he traced the line of her jaw. The motion made her shiver, the baby hairs on her neck standing up quickly as she let out a contented sigh. His finger stole down her neck, burning a trail in its wake, before, "Can you take the rest off?"

It was such a sweet request unakin to the typical passion of their rutting. In such a gentle and soft voice, reminding her of their time on Sorgan after the fight with the raiders. He'd been quieter, softer almost in comparison to the haughtiness she typically dealt with or the short, tempered answers. In fact, it took her aback completely after his dirty words, her cheeks blazing at how tender he was. 

"I- uh - yes," she shifted awkwardly, peeling the rest of her top off, followed by the trousers, struggling slightly with the breast bindings. It was so dark that everything was done by feel, each subtle movement she made punctuated when she brushed up against him as he loomed over her. Despite the fact she couldn't see, she knew he couldn't either. Why that changed the playing field so much, she couldn't fathom, but perhaps because Din couldn't watch her face as he tortured her, he was feeling kinder. 

Soft lips touched hers again, moving carefully along hers - plying and passionate - but still slow. Each curve, each movement, so glaringly clear as his chest pressed to hers, hot and slightly sweaty. She let out an earnest moan against his mouth, savoring the careful insistence, her skin toasting by the second. His fingers dug into her braids, which she hadn't had the chance to take out, gasping slightly. 

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum," (I love you) he whispered, very nearly stopping her heart in her chest. Until this point, it hadn't been said, but there had been numerous occasions that it should have. Ciri knew it in her heart, between the incessant worrying she had for him to the way his voice drove her mad. There had never been a doubt in her mind that she'd find her way back to him. The physical aspect... it had connected sooner. It was easier to unite themselves in that way, but the both of them had issues talking about their pasts - about being fully honest about their emotions because they'd never shared it with anyone before.

When Din Djarin said that he loved her, Ciri choked back tears. Because for the first time in her life, it felt as if it were actually true. That this was the man she'd never have to doubt, never have to worry about finding another lover in bed with after returning home from a long absence. Already, he'd proven he had no interest in anyone else, because he could have found her replacement in the last year.

"Cyare?"

"I love you too," she whispered, sniffling slightly.

"Are you-" he was startled, reaching up to touch her cheeks where he found the tears leaking out. 

"Shh, it's alright," she insisted, a small chuckle bubbling back in her throat. "I'm not sad. I'm so... happy."

"Ni mav draar kadala gar. Gar vaar morut'yc," (I will never hurt you. You are safe) he promised, smoothing her hair back before peppering her face with small pecks, his facial hair scrabbling against her. "I missed you. _So much_."

"I missed you too," but they both knew she had to leave to find the rest of herself. "Ni mav draar ba'slanar gar tug'yc." (I will never leave you)

"You didn't," he muttered. "Not here at least-" he brought her hand over his chest, toward his heart, which she could feel beating erratically beneath her palm. Just the thought of making Din Djarin's heart do that made her sigh. "I should have told you our first night."

"Shoulda, coulda. You said it now, that's all that matters," she paused, arching slightly against him with a low huff. "We've... known it for a while," her fingertips listed back into his hair, the short locks that she knew were brown but couldn't see. 

"But saying it-" he kissed beside her ear. "Mesh'la."

"You can't even see me," she giggled.

"You are," he insisted quietly, as if this small proclamation might wake Grogu despite how loud they'd been before. "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Why you'd choose me-"

"Don't doubt yourself now," she told him in amusement. "I can talk to you in a way I've never been able to talk to another. I feel... at peace with you. Aside from how frustrating you can be, I know it's a part of you. We fit... together - like puzzle pieces. Where one of us lacks, the other makes up." He was the better fighter, the reserved one, whereas she was the diplomat and healer. He was impulsive and she contemplative, almost pacifistic. But above all else, they worked together in cohesion despite their differences, trusting in one another's expertise. "I don't care what you look like if that's what you're alluding to, Din."

"I mean-"

"I don't care," she repeated more sternly this time. "Even if I could have any man on earth, in this galaxy, or the Milky Way - **_I. Don't. Care_ **."

He let out a pleased moan in her ear, grinding up against her enough that she could still feel his erection. "Do you ever wonder..." he muttered quietly. "...if this were fate or-"

"Maybe it was," she admitted, cupping his face between her hands, enjoying the freedom she had in roaming it at that moment. "But I try not to put my eggs all in one basket. What we have is real. Destiny or not-"

"Mm," he hummed, contented with her answer, brushing between her legs. "One day, we'll have a family, children for him to play with, a place to settle down in during lulls-"

"Then you'd better make good on your promise," she informed him, nipping his ear affectionately. 

He didn't need anymore encouragement, slicking between her folds to make certain she was wet enough. Despite the gentle conversation between them, she hadn't lost any of her craving. In fact, this softer side - their proclaimed love for one another - stirred a different sort of beast in her. God, she wanted him so badly, be it in those desperate depraved sessions or just like this. The fact that they could have both made her stomach flip. 

Coaxing himself in, she drew a sharp breath, her neck curving against the pillow as she stifled herself, trying to help guide him in. However, without as much copious foreplay it wasn't as easy. When she was soaking wet, his large, hard form took only a moment to glide inward. Now, it was inch by inch, making her tense as she tried to accommodate him. 

"Mesh'la?" he brushed her hair back, inquisitive, checking on her as she bit her tongue. 

"I'm just sensitive," she admitted, feeling him penetrate deeper, pulling out as to coat himself more in her, but she caught her words on the back of her throat again. "My goodness, were you always this... much?"

"I must've desensitized you before," he muttered, a slight laugh echoing in the back of his throat. "But now-" he thrust the rest of the way in, making Ciri jump and yelp. "I'm not here for punishment tonight."

Brow falling against hers, she coasted her fingers down his muscular back, letting out soft groans as he moved at a slow, but steady pace. His own huffs were tender, fanning heat on her face as they both strained, taking in each subtle movement and their union. Despite all that they'd done before, this felt more intimate - _closer_. Even if she couldn't see, his face was right next to hers and she didn't have the cotton of the blindfold around her face, her lashes dancing across his cheekbone as their faces pressed together. 

He shifted, pushing her hand back against the pillow beside her head and interlacing his fingers with hers. Lifting one of her legs over his shoulder, he angled slightly deeper, making her let out a low whimper. Now that there wasn't any blinding pace or pain, she could feel how his hardness pressed easily against her cervix, filling her up and stretching her wide. Compared to him, she was so small and petite, buried to the hilt, chest heaving as each minor adjustment made her gasp as he drove into her aching core. 

He was grinding into her lethargically, enjoying the tiny bits of noise he was taking from her, the subtle whines. She didn't sound as needy or complaintive, rather each sound was filled with pleasure. "I-" he hunched slightly. "-am not going to last much longer at this rate."

"I'm not either," she breathed, his hips rocking into her more steadily as he leaned back down to kiss her. Humming into his mouth, her fingers riding his shoulder blades, digging in slightly as she snared away, tilting her chin up as an overwhelming surge filled her senses, catching the air in her throat before she choked it out in a sharp moan. Now her nails were digging into his skin, her teeth biting her lower lip as he pushed into her a few more times, his own groan beside her ear before a shudder coursed through him. Rather than slink back against the bed, she savored the moment as he tried to drink in some air, pressing kisses to his cheek, his nose, his neck. He lowered himself down beside her, tugging the sheets up to cover them as Ciri slipped against his collar bone, tucking her cheek to his hot skin. She was tired, so _incredibly_ tired, but as she closed her eyes and nearly slipped off into sleep, she thought she heard the unmistakable sound of being called, " _Riduur._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But the sweet kinda smut :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a throw back to our mandos back on Concord Dawn and what they're up to.
> 
> Also, here's more of Kita Blairn, our hot, moody engineer.

_"Deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised."_

* * *

"You did what?"

Blairn stared blankly at the screen as Paz breathed down her neck. She was expecting this -- the unbridled anger for letting the Smith go off on her own. Part of her was confused as to why she had handed over the nav points, because logic dictated that she shouldn't have let a medic and their blacksmith go to Tatooine on her own - but there had been a strange calm insistence, a smooth feeling like a warm blanket of comfort being wrapped around her as the Smith quietly, but firmly insisted that she needed the coordinates. So Blairn had agreed.

Vizsla was livid.

That had been days ago now, Blairn rubbing her face as she stared into the mirror. Maker, she was feeling older than she was, but it was easy to feel that way surrounded by strapping young bucks, eager to prove their worth, and eager to impress her. Most of the older mandos were deep in hiding, the younger, less experienced ones easier to find. Her own work had been to trace leads and hand them out, but Blairn was growing restless as she remained on Concord Dawn. She'd never been the type to linger in one place for too long, just like most mandos, as it might get you killed.

She'd been born on Mandalore, lived through Order 66, through the Great Purge, through all of it. Blairn had watched her entire clan die, then her other friends and comrades, and civilians. During the Clone Wars, she'd been a kid, but she had been old enough to fight come the Great Purge - a terrified 22 year old with a quick draw, but little else to make up for what she lacked. They put her in a starfighter instead and she'd excelled, her anxiety and twitchiness transitioning well to learning every minute detail about the computers and systems. Ended up doing her well when everything came crashing down around her and she had to hide her beskar'gam for a while.

She became a smuggler, using her skill as a pilot and intelligence of tech to do well in the field. Was a lonely job, but being Mandalorian didn't give her many options. Not as if she could trust most people, especially amongst the black market. 

Tousling her shoulder length hair, she tugged on the bleached strips - a little flare to the chestnut tendrils which framed her mostly annoyed, resting bitch face. She splashed water on her face, the droplets catching the glint of the beskar nosering on her left nostril - a thing she'd done when she was 21 and held onto. Sort of liked the way it made her look younger, punkish almost - as if she wasn't the most twitchy Mandalorian there.

Kita Blairn was going stir crazy.

Picking up her helmet, staring at the faded white paint accented by gold, the visor framed in sky blue, dark green glowering back at her from the other side of the visor. The beskar'gam wasn't as heavy as she thought it'd be, but the connotations and clan colors were. Clan Blairn was gone. Her fingers traced the golden swirls on the white pauldrons before she shoved the helmet under her arm and sauntered out of the 'fresher with a deplorably bored expression on her face.

"Hey Blairn, up for a game of sabacc?" Jai'lii was entreating her, her dark brown eyes sliding over, blinking a few times. 

"Do I look like I want to play a game of sabacc?"

Silence. Followed by a bit of confusion. They were trying to be nice to her, but since she'd lost the only other female in the outpost and Vizsla - their unofficial commander - was giving her the stank eye; she was definitely not in the mood. Jai gave a slight rise of his brows, before turning around with a slight, "Oook."

She returned to her 'office' which was the computer room with a workbench stacked with a plethora of wires, scrap metal, discarded droid parts, and other shiny hunks of trash. Putting her helmet down on the nearby chair, Blairn slid beneath the array of wires, starting her work back up on the scout droid that they'd destroyed. If she could reprogram it to pull guard shifts, it would be a good asset to keep an eye out for the Empire. 

"Blairn."

She hadn't heard the door hiss open, jolting and smashing her head against the edge of the durasteel table. "Dank farrik-" she hissed, palming her forehead, brushing bangs out of the way as she threw a dirty look in Vizsla's direction, wondering if he was going to ream her out again. 

"I require your expertise," stacked up in a heavy, thick suit of cobalt blue painted beskar'gam, she'd known immediately that this Vizsla wasn't Pre. She'd asked about it, learning he was Pre Vizsla's nephew, but didn't speak much more about his estranged family member. Probably because he wasn't too proud of Pre's hand in helping bring about the fall of Mandalore as they knew it. 

"What for?" she slid out from underneath the table, still rubbing her forehead as she gripped the edge of the bench and pulled herself to her feet. She'd yammed herself good, frowning, but still solid on her feet. Silently, she cursed her jumpiness, despite the fact it was the reason she was still alive after all these years.

"Canto Bight, what connections do you still have there?"

Ah, so he was looking for her smuggler years. Had been how he'd located her aboard her freighter The Cabur or the Guardian to non-mandos. Thinking of that unfortunate encounter made her snort, having been worried when she saw the beskar that she was being detained for something - a bounty - and not being recruited to fight another war. "Considering?" she sucked on her teeth. Her contacts had watched her get dragged out by a mando, they probably thought she was as good as done. She hadn't escaped scrutiny and nor did she have a ton of friends. "I probably got a few good lines to trace. It's how I've been able to put feelers out amongst the Outer Rim. Smuggling has been tough since the New Republic has taken back over. They're not half as strict as the Empire was."

Even if the Empire was the scourge of the galaxy, they'd helped in making contraband highly profitable. "In Canto Bight."

Closing her eyes, she listed through her memory, which was rather arduous considering all that was pent up inside her brain. "Yeah, if they're still alive," she paused, considering the large man. "What for? I doubt there's anything Mandalorian out there. If there was, it would've been auctioned off already."

"Rumor has it that Plibbus Wivan is making a grand tour of the casino," Vizsla revealed, making her skin crawl with the Hutt's name. She'd dealt with them just enough to know the credits weren't worth it. Half the time, the greasy bastards were just as well to turn you into slaves or stuff you to keep in glass cases if they thought you looked nice enough. Probably why Blairn had made a point in getting a few tattoos and touting her nose ring - they hated it when you ruined your body with modifications. Plibbus was a collector of sorts, mostly of people, not so much relics. And he was fantastically wealthy, which made sense as to why he might go to the casino.

"What do we want with a slaver?" He made his money by running a trafficking ring, selling pretty folks to those who had the inclination and desire. Or hard workers that would never see a credit in their life despite the backbreaking work they'd be subjected to. Plibbus was known mostly for the prior.

"Not what, who."

Blairn had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, wincing slightly at the idea that Plibbus might have Mandalorians amongst his pleasure ranks. "We looking for a specific slave or-"

"No, a companion who's been spotted in the Hutt's shadow." 

She was relieved to hear that. "Who?"

"Zinzon Lus."

"Oh no, I ain't touching that fucker with a 10 meter stick," Blairn spat immediately in recognition. She knew the Duros that Paz referred to - smuggler turned bounty hunter. Of course she knew him, he'd been in her trade, and free traders always knew their competition. But Lus was another type of monster - no honor, no morals, absolutely nothing to guide him other than his lust to follow wherever the credits led him. He'd not turned to being a bounty hunter because it paid better, but because he got a sick thrill out of locking up the defenseless. He didn't hunt the harder bounties, he selected people he was going to traffick.

"He's got intel on a recent quarry that is mando. We need to find where he dropped the cryo pod," Vizsla explained, still not swaying her any further.

A Mandalorian would be too much for Plibbus to handle. "And our best bet is to do it when he's with an entourage of Hutts?" she arched a brow, but put the pieces together immediately after. "He's using them as cover, isn't he?" Lus had to be aware that the growing forces on Concord Dawn would want to question him. Vizsla's slow nod made her hiss an aggravated sigh, fussing her loose hair before sidling over to her computer.

A blinking light on the hologram projector nearby told her there was a message. Leaning over, she tapped it, wondering who might be checking in.

" _Blairn-_ " the silhouette of the Smith leered into view. " _-the mission on Tatooine didn't exactly go how I was planning. The lead to Mos Pelgo ended up being a native with beskar'gam; which we recovered. However, I did find the rest of my clan. We have another mando to add to our ranks. I've docked the starfighter in Mos Eisley, it'll need to be picked up, as I'm taking the Razor Crest to Nevarro. Our intention is to head to Concord Dawn after."_

Vizsla was leaning over her, carefully watching the hologram. Blairn gave a smug tilt of her head, glancing up at the man as the image wickered out. "Well, would you look at that. We've got another mando and spare beskar'gam!"

She wasn't saved, despite the good news. Even with the visor, she could feel the heat of Paz's glare. "You still owe me for letting her leave in the first place," he informed her tersely.

"I didn't pay enough already?" In the form wall sits, running around the compound with weights in her arms, doing pushups with Skelky sitting on her back. Oh yes, she'd paid like a mando recruit being punished for disobedience - and she had to pound sand because of it. The others got to watch on in amusement, glad they didn't have Vizsla breathing down their neck as Blairn had for hours. 

"No, that was to show the others what would happen if they had any bright ideas," Vizsla leaned back. "Can you get yourself an invite into Wivan's party?"

"Probably," she shrugged. "But a group of mandos walking in isn't going to be the least conspicuous getup."

"I know, that's where you play your part as a smuggler again."

Blairn's countenance dropped. "I- _what_?"

"I'm sending you in, undercover. You'll need to distract Lus and draw him out to one of the balconies where we can extract the both of you without eliciting too much attention from the Hutts."

So much for not touching the creepy Duros with a pole. She'd have to get uncomfortably close to him in order to draw him out. They weren't well acquainted and no one knew she was Mandalorian. No beskar'gam. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Blairn steadied her breathing with a tart intake before opening her eyes again. "That kind of den..." she couldn't even finish her train of thought. Blairn wouldn't be entering the party in a vest and trousers, it was a high end private hosting in some ritzy casino room. She'd have to wear a dress and act as if she owned the place, coming up with a story for where'd she'd been for the past year. 

This was actual torture. Glaring at Vizsla, she knew that the mission was necessary, but he was guilting her into it now due to her misstep with the Smith. Despite the fact that the Smith had just checked in and acknowledged that she was safe and reunited with her clan. Grinding her teeth, she leaned back in her seat, considering what needed to be done. Her mother hadn't raised her to balk before a mission. Even if she'd been moody with her fellow Mandalorians, she preferred their company to the scuppers she'd have to smile at in a few days' time. 

"Fine. Let me make a few calls. I'll secure an invite," she said finally, turning back to her computer as she let her nerves roll off her shoulders. 

Vizsla began to withdraw to let her do her work.

"Hey," she called, not willing to let him leave without a parting word. Her eyes slid back, catching him in her peripherals. "I can't assure you that everything will go off without a hitch. I know a lot of people, many of which are not friendly. I did put down quite a few opposing traders back in my Empire years. People don't really forget that."

"Any of them know you're Mandalorian?"

"Hadn't put my beskar'gam back on since the Great Purge. So no."

"You were there?" he seemed slightly taken aback, as if it wasn't fathomable that Blairn was that old.

"Yup. You too?"

She caught his nod. "You couldn't have been more than a kid-"

Blairn actually laughed at him, spinning her chair around with her arms crossed. "I was 22 during the Purge. Considered myself more a kid back then, so I suppose you're right," she informed him, crooking a finger. "Not a word of this to the others. As far as they know, I haven't hit 30." The closer she got to 40, the more she dreaded. Her life hadn't exactly been the most exciting thing - growing up amongst the broken fragments of Mandalorian society, learning how to be a warrior in secret on Concord Dawn, before fighting a war against the Empire they had no hope for. Even now, she twitched anxiously at the idea of having to face the Empire once again. They were just a shadow remnant, but the memories were still there - the terrible screams of both war cries and the dying. It was why she'd not become a bounty hunter. She preferred flying, it calmed her.

"I fought with the Jai'galaar Artillery regiment," (Shriek-hawk) he told her, taking her aback slightly. 

"You're heavy infantry, so I suppose that makes sense," she shrugged. "I was a starfighter pilot." There hadn't been many mandos who flew starfighters during the war. Most of it was boots on the ground. Only they'd realized after that Blairn was much better up in the sky than she was amongst their own ranks. She'd also piloted gunships and dropships, but after they'd stolen a TIE fighter, she was able to take their numbers out of the sky and detract attention from those who were down below. "Probably one of the only reasons I made it out of there. Can't imagine how you managed it."

That'd hit a nerve, despite not being intentional, the man's broad shoulders tensing slightly. "Just barely," silence hung between them, but for some reason, Blairn thought maybe Vizsla saw her a bit differently. He must've thought she was some young spitfire with a hissing mouth and bad attitude, keen on disobeying him. That wasn't it at all. Blairn was just weary beyond her years and sometimes lashed out at the others, because she was hoping this wouldn't be a repeat of the Purge, and they were too green and excited for her liking. "Get working on those contacts. The gathering is supposed to be in a week."

Blairn spun her chair back around, humming slightly as she began going through her contacts. Far as she knew, Zeldi Kaler - a Iktotchi socialite - still owed her a favor for the spice haul she'd delivered ahead of schedule. Securing an invite should be easy payment to reap after laying low the past year. Drawing up the hologram projector, she began removing all her beskar. No one could know she was Mandalorian.

* * *

Spywork rolled off her tongue in not an unnatural way, but mostly unsavory. Kita had pretended, postured, and spoke with a silvered tongue when working as a smuggler. People liked to hear certain things and it wasn't difficult to ascertain what those things were. Purr those words into their ears and - bam - results. Of course, Blairn had never made promises she couldn't keep, but she knew how to smooth over clients and opposition. Thing was, she just didn't like doing it, even if she was good at it. Why? Because it wasn't Kita talking when she pretended, it was a femme fatale swaggering about and Kita was more oil, jetfuel, and starship exhaust. 

She had to scrub her hands absolutely raw to remove the oil from her skin, having gotten comfortable in her little computer room with ripping droids apart and stitching them together like mechanical Frankenstein monsters. Now, she stood in the 'fresher of Vizsla's gunship, staring into the mirror with disdain. She'd worn dresses before to events such as this, high profile galas that would give her the connections to ferry items like spice. The reason why it bothered her more now was because the other mandos would see her dressed like this. In her beskar'gam, there was a semblance of respect and dignity that she was treated with. Fortunately, only Jai and Mera - Mera in which was even older than her - were the only two other mandos, but undoubtedly Jai would fill the ears of the more touch-starved Skelky upon his return. 

Drawing the blaster holster up her leg, she adjusted it so that the weapon sat on the inside of her thigh. Otherwise, the form-fitting material would have betrayed her. They wouldn't frisk her if all she had was the dress. She shoved a tube of lipstick between her breasts, which was where she also intended on hiding the signal beacon. Easier to have a reason to reach in there if she pulled lipstick out after.

Finally, she stepped out, heading to the cockpit where the men were sitting in the three seats. Jai turned, catcalling in a low whistle, cut off briefly by Blairn's palm slapping him on the back of the head. "Keep it up and you'll be heading back to Concord Dawn with one eye, you little twerp. You only need one to aim," she snapped, turning her glare toward Vizsla who hadn't turned around. "How much longer?"

"We'll be dropping you in 10 minutes at the spaceport," Vizsla reported.

She'd noticed a change in him since their conversation a week ago. Almost as if revealing that she'd fought amongst the Great Purge as an adult had made him realize she was less like the others and more like him. Then again, she wasn't at all like Vizsla. She wasn't a religious zealot or massive. Blairn was lean, tall for a woman, and - in a dress - had nice proportions that were usually hidden beneath her armor. Without her bindings cutting off circulation to her chest, she felt Jai's eyes wandering back over to her. She slapped his helmet again, forcing his visor down so low it was nearly between his legs where he sat.

"Come on-" he protested.

"I warned you," Blairn snarled. She didn't need this from them when it was all she was going to get inside of the event. "Get this kid a Twi'lek bath or something after the gig. I'll kriffing pay for it at this point."

"Mera take over," Vizsla directed, ignoring her comment before he stood up. "I'm going to run down the last of the details with Blairn before we land."

Mera had been polite, keeping his visor turned away, before taking up the pilot's seat just as they dropped from hyperspace. 

Following Vizsla out to the hull, she crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her toe slightly against the steel floor, eliciting a sharp click with each footfall. She had expected he'd give her a once over like the others, but his visor settled straight on her face. "The event begins at 18:00 local time. I'm giving you two hours to make your way toward Lus," he informed her, passing over a small rectangular beacon. "Once you've brought him to a balcony, activate the beacon and we'll be there within 5. If I don't receive any beacon activation within 2 hours or contact, we're going in guns blazing."

Accepting the beacon, she slipped it down the front of her chest and frowned. "Don't do that. I can find my way out of most situations. Two mandos against a regiment of Hutts is suicide. I'll rally back at the casino's fathier tracks if I'm unsuccessful. No need to put more of our kind in danger," she countered.

"And if you can't?"

"Then you lose one mando and a lead, not three."

"We're not leaving you behind, Blairn."

"I didn't suggest you were," she offered a sly grin. "I'll be fine, just don't freak out if I run out of time. I know how to deal with these people. Should be easy to get Lus to follow me, especially if he's still working the trafficking angle."

The ship touched down in the spaceport, Kita careful not to attract attention as she disembarked and set off for her destination. Canto Bight was a planet with an artificial ocean - the biggest of its kind. Just like most things there, it'd been engineered for the privileged and rich to enjoy. Smooth, streamline buildings with golden orbs of light, fine embroidered shimmersilk glitzing most of the patrons, brand new protocol droids following their masters, and call girls - done up very well, undoubtedly quite expensive - floated around between crowds to see if anyone would bite. 

Her heels clicked against the mica tiles of the floor, nose curling at the scent of smoke from sabacc tables as various people hung nicotine products in mouths or fingers. A few eyes trailed after her, but she set her shoulders back and tilted her chin up. Call girls would be trying to make eye contact, people would get the drift if she seemed disinterested. 

Across the main casino, she ascended several escalators until she found herself standing in front of a guarded entrance, tall doors cracking every so often to allow in guests who had invitations. Waiting in line, she gave her name to the guard with the registry, before being allowed in after they double checked her chain codes. The codes she gave were her secondary ones, not those ingrained in her armor - which she had acquired after the Purge - and built her smuggler legacy on. According to them, she was from Corellia, as a lot of smugglers were.

The room was covered in a smog of smoke, both from people smoking and a machine that wafted up around a band playing swing; amongst a Hutt favorite. Her eyes raked the crowd, moving along the slimy aristocrats and then up toward a plinth where the fat slug, Plibbus Wivan, was sitting with a few girls - a human, a Togruta, and Twi'lek - were tethered to chains around him. They were young, pretty, and put on fake faces to make it seem as if they weren't terrified out of their wits of what might happen in the near future. Her heart tugged for them, but there wasn't anything she could do, and it was possible they'd been born slaves - in which case, they'd be resistant to be set free.

Kita slid over to the bar while she scoped out her prey, leaning against it enough that her sleeveless dress dipped precariously over the edge of her breasts. Pushing her forearm up beneath them, in an almost nonchalant - but flaunting manner - she gave the bartender a coy smile. She'd done this many times before, playing dumb to get what she wanted. The Chiss behind the bar eyed her before coming up. 

"What can I get for you miss?" he wasn't looking at her face.

"A glass of pinot, on the rocks please," she requested, noticing another set of eyes on her down toward the end. "Add it to that fellow's tab. He's buying." That fellow, she knew. Sauntering down the length of the bar to toss him a rather scathing look.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite Corellian," the man smarted, pushing aside his highball glass of whiskey. "Heard you found a bit of trouble with a Mandalorian. Should've expected that you'd worm your way out of whatever bounty they had on you."

"You know me, Trivda," she inclined her head slightly as the bartender returned and handed her over the red wine with ice. She disliked warm or room temperature drinks. "More slippery than a Gungan on a mudflat."

"Here for work then?" he assumed.

"Looking for it," she confirmed easily, the taste of the bitter wine on the back of her throat. Wasn't that good. Kind of sucked, seeing that all that was back on Concord Dawn was some whiskey that tasted like jet fuel. The guys would drink it, but Kita wasn't a fan of burning all her tastebuds off.

"So how'd you do it?" he inquired, clasping dark hands together in excitement. "Get away from the Mandalorian that is..."

"Oh well, you know I'm a good shot. Might've distracted him for a bit before pulling out the stops before getting a blaster on him. Was all history after that," she smarted, imagining pointing a pistol up toward Vizsla in the same manner - almost laughing at the idea. He would've been her wrist right around. 

"What took you so long to come around?" 

"Few more to dodge after taking care of the mando. Apparently, they've got friends," she glanced at her nails disinterestedly. 

"And you're here to get back into the game," Trivda gleaned.

"Got that right," she chuckled, taking another swig of her wine, deciding it wasn't as bad this time. "Know anyone who's trying to run something high caliber?" 

Trivda settled back in his seat and let out a low sigh. "Well, the Hutts prefer a sort of... specific cache. Undoubtedly, you know this."

"Look, not a fan, as most of us aren't, but I need some work before the ol' Guardian becomes a permanent fixture in the spaceport. If I've got to run a few to get back on my feet, then so be it," she took a bigger swig of her wine, trying to wash the awful taste of those words down. Kita never ran people and never would, but she had to posture and give herself a reason to talk to Lus. 

"You've got bigger balls than me," Trivda sighed, scratching his bald head. "If you're looking for game, I'd suggest getting a word in with that guy up there-" he gestured toward the plinth, pointing directly at the Duros that was her target. "You've probably heard of him, Zinzon Lus."

"Rings a bell," she admitted nonchalantly, tracing her eyes up the pallid blue skin, the orb-like crimson eyes, bulbous head and lipless mouth framed by wrinkles. "He's not a smuggler anymore though, is he?"

"No, not for a few years. Since the Empire fell," Trivda acknowledged, also glancing in the same direction. "He's been running bounties, but not with the Guild. Might need help ferrying some bounties and I know that you have plenty of room on the Guardian."

"We talkin' cryo pods?"

"You'd have to go over the details with him yourself," Trivda lifted the glass back to his own mouth.

"Mind giving me an introduction? I haven't formally met him before," she leaned against the counter, giving her old friend a good look at her chest. 

"Well-" he choked slightly on his whiskey, clearing his throat as he tried to regain his composure. "I guess..."

"Splendid," she stood back up, adjusting her dress slightly before she scooped the wineglass up and delicately poised it between her long fingers. Trivda was a smuggler, a decent one that she'd traded contacts with, giving him the easier jobs she didn't have the time to handle. He'd gotten caught a few times, but managed to get himself out of all the kerfuffles. Seemed he'd taken up the torch in her absence, maybe not too keen on her resuming spice trading since that'd take work from him. Undoubtedly, he'd be more keen to shove her in the direction of trafficking if it meant he could keep his routes.

At least, that's how Blairn read him, since she wasn't actually in the trade any longer. "Go with me on this-" Trivda muttered beside her, sliding a hand around her waist and tugging her close.

Kita did not like being manhandled. In fact, she loathed it so much that it took every ounce of her willpower to not recoil like a spitting loth-cat and slap the man. She swept a dirty look, taller than the man in her heels, almost frowning as he guided her in the direction of Lus who was now situated on a crescent shaped couch, surrounded by scantily clad slave girls. 

"Trivda!" Lus recognized the Korunnai smuggler immediately. Pushing aside one of the girls who was leaning against him, Kita nearly winced as she slipped and fell off the couch. Lus didn't even blink. "Who've you got here? I don't think I've met this lovely specimen before."

Lovely specimen. He was sizing her up. "Kita Blairn, captain of the Guardian," she introduced evenly. 

"Oh!" Lus was taken aback. "Another trader? Well, come! Join me-" he gestured to the empty spaces on the couch. They accepted his offer, Lus eager to be beside them as he waved off the slaves. "I've heard a bit about you, Kita. Infamous spice smuggler. Heard you got into a bit of trouble."

"Mandalorian trouble," she grimaced, taking a sip of the erring wine. 

"Mandalorian?" his big, glassy eyes stretched. "Was there a bounty on your head?"

"Must've been, didn't stick around to look for the fob. Took my chance, popped him off, and had to lay low for a while. He had friends come looking for his armor," Kita explained simply. 

"You defeated a Mandalorian?" Lus was either disbelieving or awestruck.

"Blairn's got the quickest draw out of any person I've met," Trivda was still making himself comfortable, a hand roaming the plane of her hip. "If the Mando gave her the chance-" he hooked his thumb across his neck, to indicate death. 

"A good shot and a stellar pilot?" Lus sat back, tapping his arm. "Those are hard to come by nowadays. You looking for work or just familiarizing yourself with the scene again?"

"Little bit of both," she shrugged, catching the glint of the Duros's watch which read 19:00 local time. She had another hour left. "Why, you got any leads?"

"Not spice," Lus admitted.

"I don't ask questions. Give me a place to pick up and drop off," Kita counter offered, hoping she wasn't sounding too eager, but she really wanted to get Trivda's hands off of her. He was making her twitchier than usual. 

"We might be able to come to an arrangement..." Lus swept his eyes over her again, letting out a little 'ah'. 

"Why don't we go for a walk? We can discuss details over another drink," she suggested, pulling away slightly from Trivda just as his hand brushed the panel on the side of her dress, nearly opening the slit. Her tattoos were hidden for the most part, but if the dress was maneuvered enough it'd reveal her shriek-hawk eyes on her hip.

"I could use another," Lus admitted, standing up and offering her a hand. "Come. I have a proprietor who is making much better drinks than the Chiss pandering out that swill over there."

Kita took his hand and tore away from Trivda, giving her old friend a gracious, but sharp look. Unless the man was intending on also chauffeuring people, the invitation was not extended to him. He'd done his job. 

"Enjoy yourself, Trivda. Girls? Take care of him while I'm gone," Lus glanced at the hovering slaves and Kita nearly recoiled visibly when she noticed that Trivda had a hard on from touching her, disguised mostly by the darkness of the fabric to his trousers. 

_I'm going to ream Paz out for this,_ she thought tartly, taking Lus's arm. 

"So," Zinzon started, cresting around the crowd and toward a back room. "How well acquainted are you and Trivda?"

"Not nearly as acquainted as he'd prefer," Kita retorted dryly.

Zinzon laughed. "I assume you get that sort of attention quite often. A lovely woman working in this field."

"Occupational hazard."

"You're funny," Zinzon grinned, which seemed out of place on a face with no lips. "I like that... So what did you do with the Mando's beskar?"

"Sold it," she shrugged. "It's how I managed to survive on a backwater planet for the past year without needing to take jobs. Obviously, it's about to run out and I'm quite certain I've shaken my pursuers."

"That's a shame," he sighed. "I knew someone who would've paid premium credits for real beskar."

"Well shit," she tried to sound more disappointed. "Girl's gotta eat."

"I don't fault you for it," Zinzon mused. "I probably would have done the same in your situation-" A guard opened a door for them, the lighting in this room significantly more obscured by the haze of smoke and the lack of windows. Only a single balcony toward the far north of the chamber, which was framed by inky curtains to blot out the lights outside. Still, they rustled gently indicating the doors, though hidden, were open.

About a dozen patrons and a throng of impressive guards. Perhaps thirty people in total.

"What would you like?" Lus had brought them before a bar, the luminous ingredients brightened by the underlighting where the bottles were stored. Just from the shape of the beverages and some of the corks, she knew these were high vints. Her eyes slid up to a monitor that was playing some of the fathier races, including a clock. Hell, she had 40 minutes, why not enjoy one good drink before turning him in? 

"What have they got for wine?"

Lus snapped his fingers, drawing the attention of the bartender. "Alderaanian wine for the lady and Nabooian honey for me," he entreated, turning his gaze back toward her. "I've got a cache that needs transport. I can't run it myself since I've been advised by my benefactors to lay low-"

"Lay low?" she mused. "Every trader’s got to keep away from the government; Republic or Empire. Sounds like you're in a bit of trouble, Lus."

The Duros chuckled lightly. "When aren't we all? Comes with the territory," he remarked nonchalantly. "Here-" he picked up the glasses that had just been delivered, palming the expensive wine in her hand. "To the prospect of a new partnership," he toasted, a gentle ring echoing from between their glasses as they clinked.

Both took a sip, Kita relaxing into the flavor of the rare and lovely vint. Alderaanian wine wasn't good because it was impossible to get now, it had always been the best of its kind. Shame it was so expensive, because before the planet had been destroyed it had been more affordable. "So this cache," she cleared her throat, the wine burning slightly. "Let's talk prices and locations."

"Straight to business."

"I'm a business woman. No putzing around... Now, I'm not going to ask what it is, just want to know what kind of attention I might bring down on myself and who wants it," she darted carefully around the subject, but it was not unreasonable for a smuggler to ask who to look out for. 

"Old friends of yours. Which is why I thought you'd might like this run more," Lus quipped. "Mandalorians."

Wow, that was easy to get out of him. Kita paused, halting her wine glass in front of her mouth as she stared openly. "More Mandos?" she let the exasperation creep into her voice.

"You've already killed one of them, I have no doubt you could handle yourself again. And that's only if they manage to surprise you. Blairn, you don't strike me as the type who makes the same mistake twice."

"Got me pegged," she rolled her shoulders and took another mouthful of wine. "Mandos though..." she brought her eyes back up. "I'm not cheap. Especially if I'm going to have the most feared warriors in the galaxy sniffing my starship exhaust. I'll need to take extra precautions-"

"I know, I was a smuggler once before too," Lus opined. "And the client can pay."

What client? That was the question they needed to find out. "Well," she drew her shoulders up. "If they can pay..." Credits always spoke amongst free traders. "Damn... Do you mind if we step out for a bit of fresh air? Talking about mandos again has made me a bit anxious."

"Better to feel anxious. Keeps our kind on our toes," Lus nodded, guiding her toward the fluttering dark drapes. "I think I'd be more suspicious if you weren't nervous," he laughed as they broke the threshold and stepped outside.

Kita's skin prickled upon making contact with the cool air. Leaning against the bannister, she glanced down the drop, which was hundreds of feet below. Bringing fingers up, she traced the outside of her mouth, coming away with a little bit of scarlet lipstick. "Ah-" she gave the Duros an apologetic look and then reached between her cleavage, pressing the beacon as she withdrew her lipstick to reapply. 

"I might be able to throw a bonus in," Lus was watching her carefully, the way she slid the makeup over her mouth. 

"A bonus?" Five minutes. Stall for five minutes. She turned the lipstick back down and returned it to her spot. "How much we talkin'?"

"Well, I know you said occupational hazard before, but..." he was looking at where she'd tucked her lipstick. "I'll not take offense if you say no. Completely understandable. But... perhaps another two thousand credits to sweeten the deal-"

Oh gross. Kita's type was all trussed up in beskar'gam, not this pasty blue alien. At least Lus hadn't insisted on it being part of the deal. Wasn't as if she hadn't gotten these offers before, but the fact he pegged her at 2k, like she was some sort of high caliber courtesan... "I don't know..." she drawled coyly. 

"Three?"

Holy shit, he really was going to try that hard? Most she'd been offered before was sub 1,000. Seems that Lus had money to spare and was more than willing to put it toward her. Not as if anything would come of it, since the others would be here soon and the entire business deal would be revealed as a sham. Just beneath her dress she had a handful of Mandalorian tattoos that he'd certainly recognize.

"Don't make me beg, Blairn. But the slaves here are too easy-"

"And paying for me isn't easy?" she chuckled. "I don't know, Lus. I'm very particular about who I bring to bed. I've got quite the... voracious appetite." This was not true at all. Kita didn't sleep around, nor was she the femme fatale she was pretending to be. In fact, she was a greasy womp rat who wanted nothing to do with this highly sexualized scene. "If you've only been with easy slaves, I doubt you're worth my time."

"I can prove it-" he stepped toward, fingers coasting her hips, a growl almost pushing through her lips - which she stifled by pursing them. "I am quite experienced. Especially with humans, where the right pleasure areas are-" He was growing bolder by the second, his hand groping from her hip to grasp one of her breasts.

Kita was on edge, grinding her teeth so hard that it made her jaw hurt. Where the fuck was her backup?

* * *

* * *

Paz liked this idea less and less the longer he had to wait on the ship. In theory, it should have been easy and gone off without a hitch. Kita Blairn had been amongst the smuggler scene for nearly a decade and knew how to milk the scoundrels. But he knew she preferred her beskar'gam to the dress, slapping Jai around for looking too long. He'd kept his own visor tilted away to save her some dignity, but he would have been lying if he said he hadn't enjoyed catching a glimpse of his comrade in a dress. 

For all the hissing Blairn did, she was a very attractive Mandalorian. Tall, lean, with long legs and a sweeping hourglass shaped figure. In her armor, it was impossible to tell, but the dress had pooled against her flesh, clinging to her curves and her generous chest. That's why Jai had been staring, because none of them had known that Blairn had such a figure until she was in a dress.

Rarely did Paz feel apologetic, but after reaming her out to find out she was older than he'd thought... He felt as if he'd done her a great disservice. Originally, he had believed that Blairn couldn't be more than 23 or 24, only to be startled by her saying that's about the age she had been when she fought amongst the Great Purge. When he'd reprimanded her, he'd believed her little more than a recruit, only to discover she was a veteran. He wouldn't have done that to Mera and he shouldn't have done it to Blairn. Aside from him, on Concord Dawn, they were the oldest, most experienced mandos.

After this mission, he intended on talking to the crew and setting up an appropriate ranking system, to include Mera and Blairn as his wings. Mera still had fight left in him, but who knew for how many years - and part of Paz was keenly aware that Mera was looking for a warrior's death before joining his clan in Manda. Blairn would be around, but like him, he knew she'd lost her entire clan when Mandalore fell beneath the Empire. She was better in the cockpit or as an engineer. Because of her countless hours pawing over computers, listening to radio chatter, pulling on connections - she had found them more Mandalorians. Even is Paz headed the operation, Blairn was the brains.

"The beacon has gone off," Mera observed, taking the ship back into the air as Vizsla sucked a bit of breath, relieved. 

Why? She'd promised she could get the work done in the allotted amount of time. Of course, she'd make good on her word. Checking his jetpack, Jai flanked him as they headed for the dock, holding his receiver to trace her location. A quick extraction, throw the Duros bastard into cryo until they got off of Canto Bight, and then ply him with questions. 

"I'll strafe back around for pick up," Mera told them through the comlink, opening the hatch.

Air whistled around them, buffered by the filters in their helmets before Paz and Jai jumped out. Lights flickered like thousands of candles, the brightness of their jetpacks just another amongst the innumerable amount. Blazing the path, Paz spiraled down toward one of the upper echelons of the casino, a small balcony, silhouetted only slightly in the darkness. His visor, upgraded by Kih, was able to glare through the cover of night and located the slender figure of Blairn leaned up against the railing, the target with grubby hands on her body.

"Take care of ferrying the package," Vizsla ordered Jai, drawing his blaster. The heavy rifle wouldn't be needed here, not with her sectioning Lus off from the rest of the party. She must've heard them approaching, turning abruptly and snagging the corner of her elbow around the Duros's throat, bracing her opposite palm on his mouth to hush him. By the time they landed on the balcony, she was lowering his unconscious form to the ground.

"Took you long enough to get here," she remarked peevishly, glaring down at Zinzon Lus. 

"Seems you had everything handled," Paz commented, Jai cuffing the package and gagging him in case he woke up, before throwing him over one shoulder. "We need to leave."

"Don't have to tell me twice," she snorted, striding forward, her hand erring on her abdomen as she brushed it disconcertedly. 

Vizsla opened his shoulder, allowing for her to hook her arm around the back of his neck. Snagging his gloved fingers against her hips, he held her close, shifting his hand down to curve just beneath her leg, before igniting his jetpack. The beskar'gam blocked most of the physical contact, aside from his flank where her soft chest was pressed. Her shoulder length hair whipped around her, brown eyes bored and unconcerned as she was watched for the gunship. 

Mera had left the dock open for them, Paz landing on the edge and setting Blairn back on her feet. She immediately kicked her heels off, petulantly chucking them against the wall as Jai dragged Lus to the cryo chamber. Her hair was askew, the skirt riding up on her dress during the flight to reveal jai'galaar eyes on her exposed hip, also vacant of any band from underwear. He wasn't too surprised to see a tattoo, but amused nonetheless of where she'd chosen to put it.

Blairn had no words, and instead stomped off to the small crew quarters, no doubt intending to remove the dress. Returning to the cockpit, he watched as Mera took them out of the atmosphere and punched in Concord Dawn's coordinates. "Did everything go well?" the man inquired without looking.

"Without a hitch," Vizsla confirmed.

"I wouldn't say without a hitch," Mera turned toward him. "Blairn probably isn't in a good mood. You should talk to her. You put her in a bad position."

The man's honesty took Paz aback. "She agreed to do it."

"You're our commander. Of course she wouldn't tell you no after you embarrassed her in front of the entire company," Mera answered evenly, keeping his wizened voice controlled. "It's likely you didn't know, but Blairn is older than she looks. She fought in the Great Purge, she lost her entire clan.... I knew her father. He was a good man. After he died-" he let out a low sigh. "You know how it goes. We've all felt it. But Blairn isn't a spy, even if she's good at it. That's how her mother died. Trying to help Satine Kryze during the Clone Wars as a spy amongst the Death Watch headed by your uncle. The Sith discovered her and ran her through."

Paz pursed his lips, wondering if Blairn held any resentment toward him because he was a Vizsla. The shame that his name had brought to him before scorned him now. "I'm not my uncle."

"Didn't say you were," Mera retorted. "If you were... I don't think Blairn would be here." His fingers tightened on the controls, taking them into hyperspace. "She's a good kid - er, woman. Sorry, I've known her for a long time, so she's still a kid in my eyes," the man chuckled lightly. "Talk to her. Unless you want her in an even more abysmal mood than she usually is."

Paz wasn't one for words or comfort, but he trusted Mera's insight. The older Mandalorian had seen a lot and knew more than him. He needed to heed the advice of his comrades, especially those with so much beneath their belt. Vizsla wasn't arrogant to the point where he believed he knew everything. Giving a stout nod, he trailed toward the crew bunks, where he assumed that Blairn had been given enough time to get back into her beskar'gam.

Opening the door, he froze when he saw her sitting on the edge of the bottom bunk, her eyes pressed into the chuck of her palms as she propped her elbows on her knees. She'd not taken the dress off, sitting there quietly as she reeled from the mission. 

"Blairn?"

Her shoulders tensed first, exposed for the world to see in the dress, traced with a few old scars from blasters. Removing her hands, she glanced up with narrowed brown eyes. "Can I help you?"

"You did well today," Paz declared, uncertain of what to say.

"I did what the mission dictated," her voice was cold and distant, turning her eyes away from him. "We've got our guy-" she crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the edge of the bunk, letting a small sigh pass her full lips. "He was talking a bit about a client who was collecting beskar'gam. I'm under the assumption he wanted me to run cryos with mandos in them. I didn't manage to get much more out of him before the subject shifted."

"We'll get more out of him later," Paz assured her. "But-" he paused, her eyes opening again. "Get your beskar'gam back on. You'll not be doing a mission like that again."

"Might not be able to since Lus disappeared after being seen with me," she pointed out. 

"That's not what I mean. I didn't realize... Mera told me about your mother."

Her eyes widened, pinning a glare to him. "Mera did-" she drew a sharp, hissing breath. "Look, I can work and do my own missions. What happened to my mother is nothing like what happened today. She was undercover in the Death Watch, this was not even remotely the same."

"You're a better pilot or engineer. You should be where your strengths suit you best," Paz retorted.

She stood up, stomping over to him, barefoot and haughty. "I got our guy, didn't I?" she challenged, prodding him with a sharp finger just above the curve of his chestplate. "No shots fired, no one alerted, I got our guy."

"Obviously, it's still bothering you," Paz felt his temper flare at her indignance. "I didn't intend for part of the mission to include you being felt up. I wouldn't have intentionally put you in such a position."

Blairn simmered down slightly, drawing her hand back. "Comes with the territory. Because that's what I am; a woman. Doesn't matter if I'm on Canto Bight with a dress on or back on Concord Dawn in my beskar'gam."

"Is that why you're so pissy all the time?"

She glared at him again. "Well, when you're flirted with incessantly, openly asked to be slept with - yes, that tends to put you in a bad mood. Especially, when your commander does little else to make you feel less like a piece of shit. I'm a joke to most of the crew. The bitch who hides in the computer room and plays with droids instead of talking to people. I'm not antisocial, but there's no boundaries. Look, I didn't want the same thing to happen to the Smith, she seems as if she actually has a partner out there, but the guys were getting on her case too."

Paz did recall Kih getting snappy with him in regards to Skelky. He hadn't thought much of it, just rabble amongst comrades, but hearing Blairn vent her frustrations made him realize that the atmosphere back on the outpost wasn't very welcoming to female Mandalorians. It was true that Mandalorians were free to bed who they wished, without fear of repercussions during wartime, but it didn't mean foregoing manners. "I'll talk to the crew. That sort of behavior is unacceptable."

"Thank you," Blairn huffed, simmering down slightly.

"Are... you alright?"

She tensed back up immediately. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry."

She turned, brows furrowing beneath her bangs. "What?"

"I'm sorry that that's what you think of me," Paz sighed. "I'm not... Picking on you intentionally. Truthfully, most of what we have wouldn't have been possible without your expertise. Just... Kih isn't replaceable. There's enough beskar in Ka'ra to forge 20 more sets of armor. We can't get in there without her, let alone how to forge the beskar'gam."

"I know..." Blairn rubbed her face. "I don't know what she did to me. Before I knew what I was doing, I had already given her the coordinates to the lead. After, I realized that I shouldn't have done that. But..."

Paz comprehended now and felt even worse about punishing Blairn. "She used the Force on you," he informed her stoutly. "It's how she accesses Ka'ra. She coerced you with the magic to get what she wanted."

"Oh," Blairn blinked, surprisingly nonplussed in the face of that information. "Well, that's useful. What else can the Force do?"

"You'll have to ask her once she returns."  
  


* * *

**Author Break.**

Blairn is 5'10" and all legs. This is her inspiration picture - [edgy and amazing](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9e/d8/5d/9ed85d1d4e2fc7162bcc85f3d978654b.jpg)

I estimate that the Great Purge was probably around 0BBY, which means that Blairn was born 22BBY and is currently 34 if we've continued 2 years past 9ABY. This means she'd be a toddler during the Clone Wars.

We don't know Paz's age, but I've also placed him at around the same, if not a little older, and having fought amongst those remaining during 0BBY before going into hiding with the Tribe. Neither strike me as quite old enough to be kicking around like Bo-Katan who fought during the Siege of Mandalore during 19BBY.

[Blairn's beskar](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/1c/08/27/1c0827f544a9fc130f0f1668e9313bf6.jpg) (the white and gold one)

I know Jon Favreau voices Paz, but I certainly don't imagine him as the man beneath the beskar. I've contemplated a lot how I imagine him looking beneath and he's certainly massive - I sort of go along the same thread of him being very viking-esc. For his reference, I've got Stian Bjornes stuck in my head.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reunions between old friends! 
> 
> Here's where we go slightly out of episode order in the 2nd season, just cuz this felt more natural to me, and Din wouldn't have a reason to help the Frog Lady.

_"Maybe the paths that you each shall tread are already laid before you feet, though you do not see them."_

* * *

Grogu was squealing with delight in the back of the starfighter as Ciri twisted the controls in front of her. Din wanted to throw up. A short trip shouldn't have required this many maneuvers, but she was spurned onward by the kid's cheering and his silence. Oh, she had learned how to fly, but he didn't know who had taught her how to fly like an absolute lunatic. He highly doubted Vizsla flew like this. 

"Maker-" he hissed, thankful to see Mos Eisley zooming into view beneath them. 

"You say something?" Ciri tilted her helmet slightly, listening carefully for him. 

"No, I-" his voice died on the back of his throat as they nose dived for the port. Grogu threw his hands up as if he were on a ride, continuing to squall. Din closed his eyes. 

"See, nothing to worry about," Ciri had landed them, turning around in her seat to look at them. "I had everything perfectly under control." Not that he had doubted that, but the overexuberance in her methods of getting them across planet led a lot to be desired. Just like her atrocious bedside manner, she was a menace pilot. Well, no one was perfect. "Give me a moment, I'm going to send a hologram out to Concord Dawn and give them the coordinates to pick up the starfighter."

"Meet us at hangar 3-5," Din nodded, the top of the fighter popping open, she unlocked the storage so that he could retrieve the bike, Vanth's beskar'gam strapped to it. Grogu settled back in his pram, he led the bike out of the unfamiliar hangar as Ciri closed the cockpit again to obscure her transmission. He admired the glint of her blue beskar before continuing through the spaceport. 

He found Peli Motto in her office, counting a pile of various types of credits, some kind of gambling haul. Her eyes turned up and she grinned. "So, what'd you find?" she inquired brightly.

"Krayt dragon and another Mandalorian," Din admitted.

Peli's eyes stretched. "Really?" she hadn't been expecting the mission to be successful. "Do they know anything about her?"

"Who me?" Ciri's voice rang from the doorway.

Peli's face scrunched up in confusion, her eyes sweeping between the two mandos, before her jaw dropped open. "Oh, _no way_ -" she said finally. "You came to Tatooine and didn't stop to say hello to me first? Could've saved Mando a bit of time."

"I didn't stop in Mos Eisley, but I was planning on stopping by," Ciri placated, stepping into the office, the door dinging behind her. "That was, if the lead out there turned up to do me no good. We found Mandalorian armor, but not another mando."

"You're the other mando!" Peli proclaimed as if it were obvious. "So this is where she's been? The two of you had to separate because of it?"

"It's... complicated," Din objected quietly.

"I went somewhere that neither of them could go," Ciri informed her lightly. 

"How'd you become Mandalorian?"

Of course Peli would be confused and curious, just as most reasonable people would. Still, telling her the truth would put her at risk. By the hesitation in his partner, he knew she was contemplating the same thing. "I can't tell you," Ciri revealed eventually. "Not because I don't trust you, Motto, but for your own safety. It's better than you don't know."

Motto leaned back in her seat, slightly displeased, but eventually she shrugged. "Fine," she still sounded a bit petulant, though she let the subject slide. "I'm just glad the two of you are back together. Bright eyes looks a lot happier." Peli gestured toward the child who was glancing between all of them, baring his tiny teeth in an awkward smile. 

Ciri patted the kid's head. "We're all happy to be together again."

"Aw, a little Mandalorian family," Peli jabbed, making Din frown, despite the fact that it was pretty blatant. Last night, while Ciri had been sleeping and he was running his fingers across her hairline, he had called her riduur; partner, spouse, _wife_. They hadn't exchanged vows and while he knew that she was fully committed to him, he didn't know when a good time would be to ask. Perhaps he'd let them coast back into familiarity on the Crest before he approached the subject. "So, checking outta here then?"

"I have a few errands I need to run. Supplies to restock before we head off planet," Ciri commented, sparing him a tilt of her helmet. "Do you know where I can find medical supplies? Oh, and that shop we went to before to Mama..."

"Bo!" Peli filled in. "As for medical supplies-" she let out a low hiss and rubbed her fingers together. "Bacta costs a pretty credit out here."

"I've got money," Ciri shrugged.

Din glanced at her, curious as to how she'd gotten so much money if paying for bacta on Tatooine wasn't an issue. Undoubtedly, the price would be three times what it usually was to make certain you got the real thing.

"Can you take me? If it's not too much of a hassle."

"Hassle? I get to walk around with a Mando. Trust me, if you thought you were good at haggling before, just tilt your helmet and they'll cut the price in half," Peli snorted. "Might need to hit a few other places too. Just cuz you're going to be tagging along..."

"Get the Crest ready, I'll try not to stay out too long," Ciri turned to him, giving him an affectionate tap on the side of his helmet. 

He didn't feel any worry about her going out into Mos Eisley now. She'd done it before beside Peli when she hadn't any beskar'gam and been fine. Now, in a full suit of armor, Peli was correct in stating that no one would dare cross them. Smiling lightly he nodded. "Get the kid some hot food and stock up on rations-" he went to reach into his pouch for credits, but she simply waved him off.

"I've got it this time," she assured him nonchalantly. "Kebbur nayc at mar'eyir buruk vaal ni dar." (Try not to find trouble while I am out)

"Ni at cuyanir bat ni acyk'cyk mhi urcir," (I did survive on my own before we met) he reminded her dryly.

"Barely," she smarted, scooping the kid up and sliding him into the travel bag they had for him before slinging it over her shoulder, nestling it against her bandolier. 

Peli watched the exchange, clearly at a loss despite the innumerable amount of languages she did speak; Mando'a was not amongst them. Trotting after his cyare, she threw one more glib look. "The droids did a once over of the Crest. Now, you didn't ask for it, but I ran a diagnostic. Might want to stick around for a while for some repairs or take her to a port with more supplies."

Din gave an appreciative nod, letting the women depart before he turned back to his ship. Opening the Crest, his eyes listed forward, feeling different as he stepped into the hull. Whereas travel had been dreadful, the ship feeling cold, each various part reminding him of her... The table where he'd held her, the storage shed where'd they'd sparred before their first kiss, just outside the bunk where he'd caught her before they fell out of hyperspace with Malk's crew, or the cockpit where she'd occupied the co-pilot seat with the kid. Now, those memories didn't hurt, instead he looked around and wondered what new memories they could create amongst the silver and durasteel.

Gloves scraped against the bunk's door, throwing it open with a huff, staring down at the small bed that was barely more than a cot. The shame was that it was going to be cramped, but Din wasn't going to sleep in the cockpit anymore. Not with Ciri back and how wonderful it had felt to have her warmth curved against him. Fortunately, she was rather small, but he imagined the issues his helmet provided once again. Despite their proclamations to one another, she didn't rush him. Not with the helmet and not with his own tumultuous emotions and memories. 

Pressing his helmet to the frame to the bunk he sighed, wondering how in the galaxy he'd managed to land her. Her face, only for him and Grogu now, her insistence that she'd never leave again. Before, he hadn't thought that her being Mandalorian would change anything. In fact, he'd been miffed by the idea of her trying to play at a culture she didn't fully comprehend. Now, as he stared down at the blankets, he realized she knew more about Mandalore's history than he did. And that in her becoming Mandalorian, he loved her even more; which he hadn’t believed possible. The beauty of being able to share everything and that she'd chosen this path over the enigmatic Jedi -- she'd said she had loved him back on Coruscant without saying it out loud. And he'd pushed her away. 

His heart ached thinking back, guilt welling inside him.

 _Shoulda, coulda_. He smiled at those words phrased that way, in her rounded accent. Best not to dwell on what could have happened or what he should have done. All that mattered was that they were together again and living beside each other in the present. Din bundled up the blankets and washed them, making certain that the Crest wasn't in as half of a deplorable state as he'd left it. The last thing he had expected to find on Tatooine was Ciri. Best she didn't know his lack of discipline while she was gone. 

Time slipped between his fingers like the fine sands of the planet they were still docked on before Ciri returned with Grogu. Setting the kid down, he scampered up the gangplank and into the ship, his mother laden with bags and a few parcels. She set them down, waving to Peli, before closing the hull of the ship. No sooner did the door close did she remove the helmet with a hiss, pieces of hair plastered to her face. 

"Uhg, this place is so disgustingly hot," she grumbled, putting her helmet down on the table. "I got the parts to make modifications to your helmet," she informed him, unslinging her heavy jetpack. "It'll take me a few hours to do it, so I don't know if you want to lock yourself up in the cockpit or something..."

"No rush," Din told her, coming up to greet her. He tucked a few tendrils of loose hair behind her ears, running his thumbs along the sides of her face before drawing along her jaw. "Morutar norac." (Welcome back)

"Looks the same," she smiled, leaning into his touch. He touched his helmet to her brow, _kov'nyn_ \- a keldable kiss. Din's chest felt a little tight, the warmth interrupted as the kid squealed and began digging through the bags. "Oh-" she turned away, chasing after him with a flutter of her white cloak. "Hey, whad'are'ya doin'?" she scolded, running her words together in a slew before plucking him out. "Give me a dang second, I know you're hungry."

Grogu babbled incoherently, too excited to try and use words. The warm familiarity of the three of them being on the ship again enough to make the little thing explode.

She dragged a paper bag out amongst the pile, tucking the moody child beneath her arm in a silly manner - parallel to the floor as he kicked out. Din laughed as the woman struggled slightly to balance him, her brows sticking together as she frowned at the little monster. 

"Do you need a hand?" 

She blew a piece of hair out of her face. "I've got it," she put the bag on the table and readjusted the kid. Collapsing onto one of the sitting pillows, she put him on her lap and began opening the bag. "I'm not really certain what this is, but Peli said it was good."

He couldn't smell it, but from the appearance of the box when she opened it, he wagered it was bantha meat; some kind of curry. 

"If you want to leave your helmet here, I'll feed him and begin working on the modifications. We've got to set nav for Nevarro anyways... You can take my helmet for the meantime," she gestured to hers, which felt like a very... strange thing to do. Din stared openly, but he wanted the modifications to his helmet more than he was embarrassed to don his cyare's helmet. It'd only be for a brief moment until he got up into the cockpit. 

"Alright. Could you?"

She nodded, picking the kid up and turning around while he did the swap. His own helmet disengaged, clinking on the table before he lifted Ciri's, feeling the scales on the helmet. It was heavier than he'd thought it would be, perhaps due to the embellishments and ridge of short horns on the crown. It clicked into place, a little bit tighter than he'd prefer, but immediately he saw the differences between her own visor and his aside from the shape.

Her visor was much clearer, upgraded, and smooth. He flipped the retinue down and watched as it swiftly identified both Ciri and Grogu with red boxes. He was able to zoom in and his vision began swimming with calculations. " _Dank farrik_ -" he grumbled.

Ciri glanced back and then snorted. "You look ridiculous."

He ignored her comment. "You see this all the time?"

"No, not with the retinue up. It can be a little overwhelming if you aren't used to it," she admitted and he had to agree. During battle, the retinue would be incredibly useful, but as he used it subliminally now, he was trying to comprehend some of the scrolling. "There's also night vision and a medical scanner on there as well."

"You're able to add these to mine?" Even if he wasn't the healer, being able to assess injuries was incredibly useful.

"Yes, I am. Go eat your food, I'll let you know when I'm done," she smiled warmly, offering an unopened box with tossable silverware. 

Din nodded, taking the food up with him into the cockpit, slightly giddy at the idea of his helmet being able to do the same thing and what it might do to improve his combat ability. Closing the cockpit doors behind him, he settled into his seat before starting the Crest. Back on Nevarro he could take a look at the cost of parts and see about making the fixes that Peli had mentioned. Had he more credits, he might've asked her to make them, but it was still Tatooine. The best parts weren't available. 

After bringing the ship out of orbit, he punched in the familiar coordinates for Nevarro as he'd done hundreds of times before. Only this time he didn't dread having to turn back up to Cara without Ciri. Once they were listing through hyperspace, he removed the helmet not his own, and picked up the food. Typically, he ate rations, so the luxury of fresh food was a rare one. Whatever it was that Peli had advised them to eat, Din was glad for the slight kick in the edge of the flavor, sitting back in his seat as he stared at the streaming starlight. For the first time, he admired it just as Ciri had done countless times sitting behind him. 

He ended up staring at it for so long, that his eyes began to close, and he fell asleep. 

_"Where is she?"_ Moff Gideon's voice cut through, blinking a few times to see the Imperial officer looming over him as he laid on the ground. _"The child is here, but where is the other? The woman? Emma Mars."_

 _"She doesn't exist,"_ Din snapped, coming to his senses more. He was in a cell, cold, dark silver, and his hands were bound behind his back. The medicinal light glared down on his eyes, not rebuffed. _"You'll not find anyone with that name."_

 _"Perhaps not,"_ Gideon smirked. _"The Force works in mysterious ways. That's what the Jedi say. But she still exists. I will find her. The child is just a fraction in comparison to her potential. With blood like hers, we can create an army - one that the Republic will have no hope of defeating."_

 _"You're dead,"_ Din retorted.

 _"Am I?"_ Gideon crouched down, horrifying Din as the man grabbed a handful of his short brown hair, forcing his head up. He hadn't even realized his helmet was off. _"No, I should be running chain codes for Cin'ciri Djarin, shouldn't I? The reason she wasn't on Nevarro was because she was at Ka'ra, learning about this-"_ he let go of Din's hair and stood up, removing a sword hilt with no blade. He engaged the button beneath the slanted fuller, a crackling blade of black extending from the hilt, framed by pulsing white. 

_"How do you know about that?"_ No one other than a few Mandalorians knew about Ka'ra and none of them would betray their knowledge.

 _"You weren't supposed to fall in love with her. It would have been much easier if you had just handed her over and she was too weak to contact Tarre Vizsla. Then you wouldn't be worrying about this or what this means-"_ he gestured to the saber. _"And you could have just continued taking bounties... Funny, how this earthling has managed to attract all this attention from the Mandalorians. I suppose I didn't give the earth-humans half as much credit as they deserved despite their inability to travel in space."_

 _"Shab gar,"_ (Fuck you) Din spat at his feet. 

_"You know we're still out there. That perfect family you want... it'll never happen."_

A knock on the blast doors drew Din's eyes up, shattering the illusion of his nightmare as he awoke with a start. Fumbling, he grabbed the helmet sitting nearby and slid it back on, reminded again that it was too small and not his own. Getting up, he opened the door to see Ciri on the other side with his helmet in her hands. A pleased smile tugged the corners of her mouth as she openly preened at her own work. 

He grabbed her, tugging her tight to his chest, clinging almost desperately. Heart still pounding from the dream, he clutched her slender shoulders, making certain she was real. "You're welcome? I didn't think you'd be that excited about the modifications," she laughed, not quite comprehending his reaction.

"No, I... I had a bad dream," he told her quietly, her head tilting up slightly, blue-grey eyes questioning.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she suggested. "After you put your helmet back on. You look weird in mine."

Din nodded slowly as she turned her back and he was able to quickly swap the helmets out. His visor blinked to life and was much clearer than he remembered. On the right side, she'd outfitted the retinue which blended seamlessly with the rest of the helmet. 

After receiving her own helmet, she plopped down in the co-pilot's seat and arched a dark brow at him. "What did you see?"

"Moff Gideon had captured me," he sat back down in his seat, recounting the details of the dream to her. However, he omitted the part about Gideon calling her 'Cin'ciri Djarin'. As far as he knew, Ciri didn't have chain codes because she wasn't born in this galaxy. With a suit of armor, she needed codes, but giving her a set also meant she could be tagged and tracked.

"They're your fears," Ciri reasoned after listening quietly. "You say that Moff Gideon is dead now, so why else would you see him? He was the original threat to Grogu and I, so it's only natural that you'd rationalize him as the face of the Empire. As for the blade... what you've described to me is the darksaber; the blade that Tarre Vizsla forged." He noticed that she was disquieted by this detail.

"Then it is yours by right. You are Tarre Vizsla's apprentice," Din pointed out.

She laughed, shaking her head. "No, I do not want it. That blade-" her brows furrowed and she looked at him confused. "How do you not know what it means?"

Din's cheeks burned, blatantly unaware of most of Mandalore's rich history. "Should I?"

"Yes, you should, Din," she sat up. "The darksaber is a symbol of leadership. The Mandalorian who wields it is the Mand'alor. I don't want it. Why would I want to be Mand'alor?"

Right, he should have known that, duly reminded that the Tribe had left out many important details, including that other Mandalorians took their helmets off. "You're a better leader than you give yourself credit for."

"But the Mand'alor?" she snorted at him. "I can name better Mandalorians for that, yourself included. Or Paz Vizsla. Someone who can unite both fronts of Mandalore - peaceful and warrior. I am here to help, to help forge the links between the people, but not to be their leader."

His stomach shifted uncomfortably at her suggestion that he should be Mand'alor. "I think that Paz was born on Mandalore. He might make a better Mand'alor."

Ciri's eyes softened and she let out a small sigh. "It doesn't matter where you're born. You're evidence of that. Hell, I am too. Back on Sorgan... You led that farmers into battle, you trained them, you don't think you could do the same amongst our own people?"

"You and Cara helped."

"A good leader doesn't do everything on their own. They know where their strengths are and lean upon the support of their subordinates. You did it again on Tatooine with Freetown. You listen. Which is a lot more than other leaders do and you do it naturally, Din. I've never doubted your guidance and I've doubted a lot of people before in my years. I've seen many leaders; what you have is something a lot of people yearn to be good at, that they train years at and don't get better. Stop being so modest," she unloaded on him, astonishing him. He knew that she had to have known many leaders, her military was quite large from her descriptions. For her to say that...

"You're only saying that because we're together."

Ciri gave him a sardonic look. "I am not," she clucked. "I'm not one for flattery, you know this. What I'm saying is what I really believe. I believe..." she paused, watching his clasped hands and then let out a low breath. "How much time before we get to Nevarro?"

"A few days. Why?"

"I have a long story I want to tell you. It's quite long, so I don't think I'll finish it today... or even tomorrow, but I think you should hear it. About unlikely heroes and leaders and a man destined to be king, though he left that path and never wanted it. He became a ranger - in a way... similar to Mandalorians. Just... humor me. It's a complex story and I don't recall all the exact details from the books, but you should hear it regardless," Ciri broke, lifting her eyes, opining him with the opportunity to hear another one of her earthen tales.

"Is this like the stories you've told before?"

"No, it's not. I think the first line begins like this, but I might be butchering it-" she cleared her throat, sitting back. " _When Mr Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would be celebrating his eleventyifirst birthday with a party of magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton._ "

* * *

* * *

"You're not going to believe this," Karga was trotting over to her, holding a hologram chip in his hand, excitement creasing the magistrate's features.

Cara lifted a brow, in tandem bringing her spotchka to her mouth. She ached a bit after flushing out Aqualish robbers from the sewers, who had been habiting the workshop for the Mandalorian Armorer. Where the woman had gone, Cara couldn't say, but she must not have been around if she let the scuppers set up shop. Now, she was enjoying a drink post work after having returned the stolen materials to their rightful owners. 

"Well? Come on!" Greef was rather insistent, more so than she was expecting.

"What?" Cara groaned, trying to take another sip of her drink.

"Mando is here. Just touched down by the spaceport," Karga informed her duly, as if it were common knowledge. 

"Oh, why didn't you lead with that?" Cara drained her snort and pushed up to her feet. One glass wasn't enough to do anything other than feel warm in the stomach, rolling her stiff shoulders as she contemplated her last visit with Mando. He'd been down for the past year, coming to the Guild to take jobs. Cara knew he was missing Ciri, the white haired-er, _blonde_ woman that was from earth. Honestly, Cara felt sort of bad how she'd left off with the other female too. She'd openly ogled her, taking Mando's side in it being unnatural, trying to support her friend, before she realized she'd made it worse. 

As conflicted as Mando had been at first, that was swiftly replaced with horror and despair. From the line of his shoulders, to the emptiness of his voice translating through the vocoder, Cara knew he had it bad. The man had fallen in love with her back on Sorgan, which was more than a year ago - at this point, over two. Cara liked her, she was resolved, responsible, grounded, and had a good sense of humor. Easy to get along with because she'd also been a soldier, so Cara had never felt awkward around Ciri until she'd started the whole magic thing. Fear of the unknown. Cara didn't like being unprepared or unknowledgeable. But the fact that she'd let that pollute her outlook on someone... someone who had shown that they were trustworthy - even Cara felt guilty.

Han Solo was being a piece of shit. The man knew where Ciri had last been seen and Cara had let him have an earful on how he should hand over the coordinates. But the kriffing man simply told her that Ciri would crop back up when she was ready. Did he not know she was from earth? That the woman didn't know anything about the galaxy? That leaving her on her own might as well be a death wish? Of course, Cara had roared these things at him and Solo eventually stopped deigning her with answers.

So when Cara Dune got up to follow Greef Karga out to the spaceport, the last thing she was expecting to see was a Ciri sized Mandalorian trotting off the Razor Crest with the kid tucked in a satchel. Confusion hit Cara first, cocking her head as she inspected the lines of the armor, the blue-silver glint of the natural beskar, and then the swing of ash blonde hair that was lanced by stripes of platinum and gold. 

"No fucking way," was all Cara could say before the biggest, widest, shit-eating grin unfurled on her face, her heart soaring up into her throat. "That you, Doc?"

"None other," the Mandalorian retorted to her chagrin, making the smile on Cara's face widen. 

"How-what- _Oh man_ , am I glad to see you," Cara stepped forward, overwhelmed by her own emotions as she grabbed the petite woman, nearly lifting her right off her feet. "Kriffing beskar? How did you manage that?"

"Looooong story," Ciri answered, teetering slightly as she was set back on her own two feet. 

"It's not that long," Mando muttered.

Cara swept her eyes over, noticing the change in him. Even if she couldn't read his face, she saw that he was standing straighter, the slight incline of his helmet toward Ciri's, the relax of tension in his shoulders, even his voice sounded considerably warmer. If Cara were a more tender person, she might've cried tears of joy to see the two reunited. "Well," Cara scoffed. "I think we've got a bit of time."

"I don't think we've met officially," Karga stepped forward, offering a hand to Ciri. "But I've heard a little about you..."

"Ah, you were the one who was trying to convince Mando to hand us over a couple of years ago," Ciri's visor tilted toward the offered hand and for a moment, Cara thought she wasn't going to shake it. Instead, she gripped his forearm and gave a resolute welcome. "I've heard things have changed. Glad that things ended up working out so that our meeting is like this."

Greef blinked a few times, but then offered a smile. "She's not as mean as you, Mando," he mused, glancing toward his associate. 

"Ah, you don't know Doc. She's got more attitude in her pinky that Mando's got in his entire body," Cara snorted. 

"I'm not mean," Mando griped solemnly.

Everyone looked over at him slowly. "Broody," Ciri corrected, drawing nods from Cara and Greef. 

"Not very conversational," Greef added.

Mando just remained silent, not helping his case much. 

"So, Mando. What brings you... and Doc here? Not that I'm complaining, you look a lot better than last time I saw you. The two of you planning on taking up bounties together?" Greef shifted to business, but it was obvious he was itching to get them back in the common house to assault Ciri with questions, since she seemed more willing to hold conversation. 

"We're here for repairs," Mando answered honestly. "How much do you think it'll take to repair her?"

"Ah, you're a friend. I think we can work something out. I've got a few ideas, but first, let's go get a drink. Maybe you can drop the kid off at the school again, he liked it last time - so that the adults can talk," Greef patted Mando's shoulder, astonishingly bold, perhaps because he knew that the man was in a better mood.

Cara knew what Karga was referencing, but didn't openly voice it during their reunion. "You'll like the school," she told Ciri as they left the Razor Crest behind and started back into the city. "You haven't been here in a really long time, have you?"

"Never got much of a chance to look at it. First time I came here I was in cuffs," Ciri admitted, letting a light laugh ping through her mask, almost mechanical through the vocoder. Cara noticed that her pauldrons were marked with the same sigil as Din's. "Funny how we're here now. I'm in beskar'gam. The town is liberated..."

"The galaxy - er, _universe_ \- is weird," Cara agreed. "Let me give you a proper tour then, since your own memories of Nevarro are certainly not pleasant. At least you'll get to know the town with its facelift."

Cara pointed out various landmarks as they passed through, gesturing to the marketplace, the living sector, and commenting how the city had never been this open or relaxed. The people had always been wary, the company grimy, and the Guild bringing in some of the worst kind of scum. Under the guidance of Cara and Greef - hand in hand they'd cut off the worst bounty hunters and had good rapport with those who still came through. As Karga had put it, they had wiped away the villainy and scum. Of course, that'd come with Mando nearly dying, but Cara didn't harp upon that point, wondering if Ciri even knew about that.

"And here's the school," she opened the door, revealing rows of well behaved children sitting at desks, being lectured by a silver protocol droid. 

"Grogu!" a little girl with pigtails shrieked in excitement. 

The kid glanced up at Ciri, his eyes becoming round as he made grabby hands at her. Picking him up, she nuzzled her helmet into his face. "Just for a bit, cyar'ika," she promised, but the kid began to warble right away, big eyes filling up with tears.

Cara's heart tugged, aware that the poor thing was petrified of Ciri not returning again. "Little womp rat has been rather attached to you since your return, huh?" she rubbed the kid's head as he clung to his mother.

"Yeah, but he needs to get used to being away from us for a few hours at a time. We can't take him everywhere, especially on missions," Ciri sighed, running a gloved finger along the child's quivering ears. "I promise. I promise, I promise," she whispered, her modulator barely picking it up as Grogu sniffled a few times, pushing his face into her visor before his eyes closed. He quieted and then allowed for her to put him down. Watching him saunter off, she put her hands on her hips, letting out a low sigh. "He's still upset with me, but I can't blame him. He didn't really understand why I had to leave and because of the Force... we have a very close bond. It physically hurt the both of us to be separated for so long."

Dune watched the baby find an empty seat and claw his way up, throwing one more watery and worried glance as Ciri, who gave him a reassuring wave. "He almost lost the both of you. It's only natural he'd be worried not to see either of your shiny heads," she pointed out. "Speaking of which-" Cara hooked an arm around the petite woman's neck and led her back outside. "That beskar suits you well, Doc. How the hell an earthling like you managed that-" she let out a low whistle. "I'm eager to hear the entire story."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you it's because of my gift with words, would you?" Ciri jested, giving a hopeful tilt of her helmet to look up at Cara. 

"You're no Solo," Cara informed her stoutly. "Plus, I don't think Mandalorians are just handing out armor to those that pique their liking. Else Mando would've never gotten his."

Ciri laughed, covering the microphone on her vocoder as she tried not to be too loud. "He's not that bad. Again, he can just be broody and grouchy. But underneath the tincan is a heart of gold."

"You're a tincan now too," Cara dinged the top of Ciri's helmet, making it ring slightly. "I know he's not bad, it's just amusing to poke fun at him... And to see you jump to his defense-" Ciri went quiet at this, which made her smile. "C'mon, I've known about the two of you for a while now. That idiot was making eyes at you going all the way back to Sorgan."

"No he wasn't," she scoffed, trying to tug away from the shocktrooper's grasp around her neck.

"Uh-huh," Cara teased further. 

"Look at you now. I heard you're a marshal for the New Republic-"

"Stop trying to change the subject, pipsqueak," Cara tightened her grip, guiding them back toward the common house where Din and Greef had gone ahead without them. "Wearing the Mudhorn sigil. Coming back in full beskar. Almost as if nothing's happened, despite the fact you changed colors, disappeared for a year, and are somehow Mandalorian now. I've got so many questions."

Ciri groaned. "What one's first?"

"What's up with you and Mando?"

"W-well," Doc stammered. "We're together if that's what you're asking."

"Obviously. But like... how?" Cara knew she was torturing the poor woman, who was undoubtedly bright red beneath her helmet. 

"Together," Ciri grumbled. The next word that came out was so quiet that Cara thought she hadn't even heard it, "Romantically."

"Ah! I knew it!" she slapped the female hard on the back, driving the air right from her lungs, causing her to stumble forward. "Congrats, congrats. I mean, I already knew it was going to happen, but now that it's confirmed... Do you guys take your helmets off? Together?"

"Uhm," Ciri cleared her throat awkwardly. "I haven't seen his face, but we do take our helmets off. Gotta eat, y'know. He's seen my face, my own oaths are not the same as his. I swore to only remove my helmet around my aliit - my clan - so I take it off with Grogu and Din. I'd show you if it weren't against my Creed; I got a bunch of new scars. A few on my face too."

"What the hell were you doing for the past year?"

"Learning," Cara could hear the wild grin in her voice.

Cara listened as Ciri outlined the past year, their walk taking them through laps around Nevarro City rather than stopping inside the common house. There were some details that the woman explained she couldn't share whilst out and about, including what planet she was on, where exactly she'd been staying, and the names of those she had met. Instead, from the vague story, she gleaned that Ciri had been trained as a Mandalorian smith, forged her own armor, found some rather badass fauna, earned some scars, and learned Mandalorian culture, language, and history. Eventually, she left with some other mandos and went somewhere else, yet more details she couldn't spare.

"That cloak belongs to your first hunt?" Cara ogled the pelt, running her fingers along the plush fur, lingering on a few of the silver spots. 

"Yup, the one that scored me pretty well. Raked teeth across my face, gouged me across my abs," Ciri's voice lit up as she recounted it. "Good thing I have this helmet, I'm absolutely hideous now."

Cara knew it was a joke, their banter had progressed through their laps of the town. "Thanks for sparing me," the soldier grinned. "Hey, Doc, listen. I want to apologize for back on Coruscant. If not for you, my chain codes wouldn't have been cleared and I was ungrateful. Your hair is barely different, I shouldn't have turned you away so quick. I mean... after all you trusted me with-"

"You have nothing to apologize for, Cara," Ciri insisted calmly. "I thought about it often during my exile. The Force is strange and when you are looking at it from the other side, not knowing how to understand it, or being able to fathom what I'm seeing... It's hard. And I know it's frightening. Sure, my hair got a little more golden, my eyes a more normal color, but let's be frank - it was fucking weird and I don't blame you for acting naturally. I freaked Din out a lot more, waking up with different hair and eyes, talking Mando'a when he's never said much to me in Mando'a. So there's nothing to forgive, but if you really insist, know that I forgave you a long time ago.

"Life is too short to hold grudges. Especially when you've got few friends in the galaxy," the woman gave Cara an affectionate tap on her arm. "I'm just happy that you're doing well."

Cara's heart swelled, a soft laugh falling off her mouth, wondering how she'd managed to meet such a weird, but benevolent earth-alien-human. Even so, she stood there in a full Mandalorian getup, and in spite of it, the woman beneath it was still glaringly the same person that Cara had known before. Perhaps a bit more wizened, but the soldier was still underneath - the person Cara had felt she could relate to before. "You're definitely not from this galaxy," she muttered, but smiled nonetheless. "Are all earthlings as forgiving as you?"

"Oh hell no," Ciri bellowed with mischief, her accent more pronounced in that moment. "People are people, here or the Milky Way. I'm just the way I was intended to be. Y'all are just lucky that I'm so benevolent. What if you'd been landed with a vindictive asshole earthling?"

"I can't even imagine anyone as ridiculous as you. First thing I thought of earthlings was you all had white hair and purple eyes."

"Dear lord. No, I don't even know how that happened. My hair is naturally blonde and my eyes blue. That getup... I was in a costume back on earth when I was abducted. Went to take my wig off only to find it was my real hair. You can imagine how freaked I was. White hair and purple eyes are not natural on earth."

"That does sound freaky," Cara agreed. 

"Humans on earth come in all colors - natural colors. Light skin, medium, dark, hair that ranges from black to pale blonde, copper red or auburn. We're still human. Blue, brown, green, hazel eyes..."

"It's so weird thinking that you were confined to one planet with only humans," Cara hummed, finally leading her in the direction of the common house. "And the amount of strife on one planet."

"Everywhere is rich in history," Ciri reminded her gently. "You just have to take the time to learn it. Earth is not more decadent than any other planet that's been habited for thousands of years. My homeworld was just good at keeping intricate records of history.”

Cara didn't know why those words moved her, but they did. She was reminded vaguely of her broken home, the planet nothing more than an asteroid field. To hear Ciri say that, someone who'd only known one planet, it made her chest hurt, because this little human had more empathy for strange, new places than most in this galaxy did. The amount of history that had simply been wiped the moment Alderaan had been smote from the star system... The Empire hadn't cared. Now, all that was left was lingering sympathy and pity for the survivors. 

"You would've like Alderaan," Cara said suddenly, thinking back to the memories Ciri had shared with her over a year ago. "Was like that mountain you showed me."

"Mount Washington?" she cocked her head. "Perhaps they were similar, but each place is unique in its own way. From what Leia showed me... Alderaan was beautiful-" she glanced at the entrance of the common house, pausing slightly before entering. "The night is dark and full of terrors. But when we look and see that darkness, you need only remember to turn on the light. Let us not forget what makes us who we are, but grow from it. Our lives are much too short to dwell on the tribulations of our past. They make us stronger, if only we grow into them-" she glanced back up at Cara, taking aback the Rebel by the wisdom in her voice. "I lived in the shadows of my own memories for too long. Letting my experiences poison me rather than growing from them. No matter what you think you've done or that you could have changed the outcome, know that you couldn't. Hindsight is 20/20; and if you need an ear to listen, I'm here... Now-" she slapped Cara on the arm, almost as if she hadn't laid out a long philosophical bout for the soldier to dwell on. "I expect Karga is going to ask me a shitton of questions."

"Undoubtedly," Cara grinned, still thinking quietly on the words from the medic as they entered the cantina. A glaze of low lighting, mostly natural from the repaired window behind the bar. A droid was serving beverages, the tables filled with bounty hunters that were either taking a break between jobs or about to pick up another. She recognized the faces, giving a stern look amongst those that she had to step on the toes of to lay down the new laws of Nevarro. Most of those that didn't like her, hadn't returned. Worked out better in the long run, since such scuppers were appreciated in these parts any longer. Greef also didn't want to lose his title as magistrate again.

"There they are!" Greef acknowledged, having billeted Mando with questions, the Mandalorian hunched slightly in discomfort. "Guessing you dropped the little womp rat off?"

"Yes, took a little longer than we were anticipating and then Dune gave me a proper tour of the city," Ciri answered cordially, sliding into the spot beside Din, so close that their pauldrons were nearly brushing.

Cara smiled slightly, sitting opposite of them next to Karga. Even in the low light of the cantina, the pair of glowing unpainted beskar drew attention. Everyone knew who Mando was, but not his cobalt partner. His kind were already rare, to see a duo was a sight for sore eyes. 

"What did you think?" Greef asked with interest, ready to preen more over his work in Nevarro City. Dune let him, the man had made a complete 180 from where he had been before. He'd been in a rut of his own after losing his title and finding nothing better than the feeling credits weighing down his pocket in place of satisfaction. Now that he had a town to look after, the Guild to head, and purpose - the man was more eager to prove himself as a honorable politician and leader than a scoundrel.

"Little dusty and arid for my likings, I've always preferred the humidity," Ciri began with a wry tone of voice. "But overall, not bad at all. People seem very happy."

Karga accepted the compliment. "Mando already declined, but would you like a drink, Doc?"

"Wouldn't mind some spotchka," she shrugged.

"Another two snorts over here," Karga cried to the droid. "So, per New Republic regulations I've got to have chain codes on all of my hunters. Mando already handed me over his last time, but I've got to register you too, even if you're not here for a hunt. I expect I'll be seeing the two of you sooner or later for more jobs."

Mando and Ciri exchanged looks and Cara knew why. She didn't have chain codes. This wasn't incredibly uncommon, as backwater planets often didn't dish out chain codes to the locals unless they were arrested. But considering who she'd been touting alongside of and that she was Mandalorian... the assumption would be that her codes were stored in her armor to prevent someone from stealing it and claiming it as their own. 

"I'll handle that clerical stuff later," Cara objected, putting an end to that matter for the moment.

The spotchka was delivered and Karga watched on very closely to see what might happen with the Mandalorian in front of him. Cara had seen Mando lift his helmet up enough to drink before on Sorgan, so she wondered if Karga actually expected Ciri to remove her entire helmet or not. Just as predicted, the woman only tilted it enough to take a swig of the drink before it clicked back into place with a hydraulic hiss. Before it managed to slide down, she caught the pink scar on the woman's lip, which hadn't been there before.

"The repairs," Mando interjected sternly, causing Greef to tear his eyes away from Ciri. 

"Ah yes, don't worry we'll take good care of the Razor Crest for you," Karga waved off, glancing back over at the blue mando. "Your partner wouldn't tell me much about you. I've heard some from Marshal Dune, but to hear it from yourself-"

"There's not much to say," Ciri played off nonchalantly, making Cara snort at the biggest understatement of the decade. "What's the marshal told you?"

"That Mando had a medic traveling with him - one of the old bounties for the Client. Told me you were a soldier - wouldn't say where, though I expect Rebel for Dune to like you so much - and that you had a good head on your shoulders. Two of you had a bit of a falling out and parted ways-" he paused, dropping his voice slightly. "Although, Moff Gideon was a bit more specific about how difficult it was to acquire you. I assume you've got magic like the kid does, because that bastard was livid that you weren't here."

Ciri sat back and resigned to a slow nod. "Well, he's dead now, so - salute - to that," she raised her glass, Dune and Karga also toasting to the acknowledgement of the dead Imp. After clicking her helmet back into place, she tilted her copper visor to Karga. "So yeah, there's not much more to me other than what Dune said."

Karga sputtered into his snort of spotchka, before giving Cara a sideways glance. "What's with mandos being so secretive? We're all friends here," he complained in a light, good natured tone. "I made certain to take care of your partner while you were gone."

"And I'm appreciative for that," Ciri agreed in just a calm and even tone. "But I'm back now and we have things we need to take care of. We might not see you all for a while due to the nature of our quest."

Dune was sad to hear that, but expected it had to deal with the other mandos Ciri had mentioned meeting up with. Above all else, Mandalorians were bound by a code to help one another. Despite being friends, their allegiance was to Mandalore - even if neither of them had been born there. But the consistency of Ciri warmed her, the woman finally having a sense of direction. Back on Coruscant, she had been scrabbling for it, trying to find where to forge her lightsaber before everything had splintered apart. Now she knew her place, just as Cara had found her own, just as Greef had found his. Their paths were interlaced, but also dissected at various locations. 

"Well, let's talk some business then. Glad we could have a formal introduction over some drinks, but if you've got somewhere you need to be off too-" Greef let out an overly dramatic sigh before opening his eyes. "I know I'll catch you two on the flipside. Dune?"

"I've been doing a bit of digging around on Nevarro, checking out the rest of the planet to make certain we don't have any Imps scuttling around in the shadows," Cara revealed, going over her last months worth of work to clean up the planet completely now that they were amongst the New Republic liberated worlds. While still out far, the New Republic had added them to the trade route and settlers were beginning to flock there bringing in more commerce. Many of the bounty hunters liked the Guild so much on Nevarro that they'd bought apartments with the intention on settling down on the planet in their spare time, which also meant that Nevarro had more loyal guns to defend the city since these hunters wouldn't be keen on losing what they liked so much about Karga and Dune's reign. "There's an old Imperial base that has been here since Imperial expansion. From my observations, it's a skeleton crew. Don't know why it hasn't been abandoned."

"Either way, I want to blow the place sky high after we pilfer it for resources that might sell well on the black market," Greef added.

"You just want to mop them up before the black market gets to them," Mando corrected, speaking for the first time in a while.

"No," Karga smoothed over. "I want the Empire off my planet and the credits we can earn from selling their shit can help expansion in the city. If we can take that last outpost out, then this planet will be completely safe as a trade anchor for the entire sector."

Mando sat back, another silent question posed at his partner who was a little stiff at the mention of Imperials. Cara wondered if the woman had encountered them since her imprisonment a couple years back. Ciri muttered something in a language that Cara didn't recognize, but assumed it was Mandalorian. Mando answered back before the woman tapped his arm. "It's fine," she insisted quietly. The exchange, despite not seeing either of their faces, was incredibly tender. So tender that Greef's brows shot up as if he couldn't believe this was the same bounty hunter he'd known for years.

"What are we looking at?" Mando inquired tersely.

"Let's take a trip over to the office and we can go over the details," Cara suggested, pushing up to her feet.

The office flanked the common house, the receptionist - a Mythrol - let out a puff of mist as he paled at not only one mando, but two entering the room. His eyes widened specifically at Mando, who's visor tilted impassively toward him. 

"Ah," Karga mused. "Haven't shown you around here much since you've been back in the city, but I think you remember our Mythrol friend here. He's been taking care of my books for a long time, since he was a pollywog in fact, until he disappeared after some creative accounting. I had sent you after him those years ago and decided to put him back to his old job."

"Magistrate Karga was generous enough to allow me to work off my debt," the Mythrol blubbed, giving an anxious glance toward Ciri who was simply staring at him. Cara realized the woman must've never seen a Mythrol before.

"Oh yes, but it'll take another 350 years to pay off," Karga whistled.

"I'll track him down if he runs away again," Mando offered lightly.

"N-no!" the Mythrol squeaked. "I'll not misbehave. I don't want to spend any more time in carbonite. I still can't see out of my left eye."

Karga prowled forward into the main portion of the office, behind his own desk to pull out a holographic map. Putting it up over the conference table, the sprawling form of the outpost came into view. "While we're here, Dune, why don't get on those chain codes?" Greef inquired.

Cara gave a stiff nod, her eyes trailing between the Mandalorians. Din stepped aside, pulling her away enough that the others couldn't hear. "I assume she doesn't have any," the woman muttered quietly.

He shook his head. "I don't really want her to have any either."

"She needs them. Or her armor does. Plus, we aren't going by her old name, so it shouldn't attract any unwarranted attention," Cara pointed out. 

He was very quiet for a moment, a hissing breath translating through the vocoder. "Fine."

"I'm going to need a few details. A full name. Home of origin. Birth year-" Cara prattled off the most obvious stuff. 

"I think... if my math is correct, 17BBY would be her birth year. As for her home... Krownest."

"And name," she prompted, wondering why Krownest out of all places aside from the fact it was in the Mandalore system.

"Cin'ciri Djarin."

Cara paused, tilting her head up toward him, brows furrowing. "The two of you-"

"Not yet," he told her, voice dropping even lower. 

"But you are-" Cara insisted, raising her brows now. " _Ha_! Well, took you long enough to heed my advice back on Sorgan. Not exactly in the manner I was expecting, but-" her eyes slid across the room to where Ciri was leaning over the table, roving the details with Karga. "-I think this suits the two of you much better. I think you two might've gone stir crazy on Sorgan and I know she wants to see the galaxy. She... she has a lot of appreciation for other cultures and places, despite only having lived on earth. You don't see that very often."

"I know," Din agreed. "That's part of the reason why-"

"Why you love her?" Cara filled in, to the man's chagrin, a big fat smile creeping over face. "Well, I'll get those codes hashed out for her. They should be ready by the time we come back from the mission out to this outpost. Congrats... You deserve it. The both of you do. After all you've been through."

"Thanks. That means a lot coming from you, Cara."

Mando wasn't very often warm, but in that moment, Cara Dune felt it in those earnest words. Glancing between the both of them, she couldn't help but feel thankful that the both of them had stumbled into her life on Sorgan. Each had a special place in her heart as she knew they were true friends - people she could trust to come if she called them. She hadn't felt that sort of comradery since her years as a Rebel and even then, it'd only been because she was fighting for the same cause. This was... real. They didn't have the same uniform uniting them. All they had were experiences, words, and a deep seated trust rooted so deep that it'd never be pulled up. Despite being Mandalorian, the Djarins were the most authentic and genuine people she had the pleasure to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Ciri says "salute" to toast, she's using the Italian form of cheers, not the English meaning of the term. Again, a New England thing since a lot of families are Italian-American and she would've grown up around them.


	24. Chapter 24

_"Not all those who wander are lost."_

* * *

Being back on the Crest, beside Din and the child made her feel better than she could've imagined. They slid back into familiar regiment aside from the separation between their sleep cycles. Rather, stuffed in the bunk together without beskar'gam and upon the bundles of new blankets she'd purchased on Tatooine, she snuggled up to her Mandalorian. Feeling his warmth without the armor, tucking her nose into the curve of his neck, arm wrapped around her - it felt as nothing could go wrong in the universe. Of course, that was wishful thinking and Ciri also thought that the universe would be a boring place if everything went right all the time. But her dreams hadn't prepared her for the emotions she'd be overwhelmed with. She was happy. So utterly and blissfully happy that Ciri really couldn't recall a time in her life where she'd felt this right. 

Right with herself. Right with her living situation. Right with her partner and lover. Right with everything the future might hold. 

She had shared the story of the Lord of the Rings with him, hoping that Tolkein's careful writing and poetry might get into his thick skull. Ciri saw a lot of similarities between Din and Aragorn and while he'd made a point that she could be Mand'alor, she knew that wasn't true. Even if she was Mandalorian now, a lore keeper, and a smith, she did not deserve the ranking that he suggested. The Mand'alor needed to be someone who understood and had lived by the Creed much longer than her. Din Djarin embodied the warrior spirit that Tarre had detailed to her. Even if he did not see it, Ciri did.

Now on Nevarro, reunited with another old friend she'd left on a sour note with, Ciri felt a bit of fresh air in her lungs as she and Cara made up. The Rebel had been worried that Ciri resented her, which couldn't be further from the truth. There wasn't enough room in her heart for her to carry resentment. Such a burden was too heavy and she'd never blamed Cara for being frightened by a magic she didn't understand. 

Reviewing the map once more of the Imperial outpost, she narrowed her eyes behind her visor as she committed some of the twists and turns to memory. Just the mention of Imps set her teeth on edge, having been alluding them on Krownest only to have to waltz right into one of their garrisons. According to Cara, it was just a skeleton crew, but the Force hummed in the back of her throat - a dull warning that she wouldn't like what she found there.

"How are you feeling about this?" Din muttered as the others left the office to prepare their transport.

"Honestly?" she grumbled, itching the back of her neck between her kute. "I have to face them sooner or later. Be that here or for Mandalore. The most I've seen of them has been in the cockpit."

"Don't pull your shots today," Din warned. "They haven't done anything deserving of your sympathy."

"I know," Ciri sighed, keenly aware that this mission they would not be taking any prisoners. Part of her wondered how someone even got wrapped up in being a stormtrooper, but she shoved those thoughts away immediately. Trying to sympathize with the enemy would just cause her to hesitate. Such was the curse of caring so much for life. 

"They would have killed you," Din placed his hand on her shoulder, curving the fingertips of his gloves into the collar of her armorweave. His fingers were shaking slightly at the proclamation, the unbridled rage stirring in the edge of his voice. "You and the child. And none of them would have thought twice about it."

"Oh, trust me, I know. They weren't very kind to me on the ship I had been imprisoned on. But that doesn't mean I have to think like them. That's all the galaxy needs - people who just follow orders without thinking of the consequences," Ciri turned around to look up at him, leaning against the conference table. 

"You think too much sometimes, cyare," Din sighed.

"The soldiers didn't pop up out of nowhere. They have families, friends, hobbies, interests. We shouldn't forget that, even if we fight on opposite sides. Dehumanizing them shouldn't be our justification for doing this. We are doing this because they chose the wrong side to support," Ciri retorted, letting out a deep breath before nodding slowly. "I'll be fine. Could use a bit of target practice. Fortunately they got those ugly helmets on, should make it a bit easier..."

"You knew this day would come. You're a soldier - Mandalorian... the path we walk isn't for the faint of heart. I know you're not, despite how empathetic you can be," he tapped the base of her helmet with the crook of his finger, tilting his visor up to meet his. "Don't feel bad for them. You know that we'd never hunt or kill anyone who wasn't deserving of it."

"I know, I know," Ciri groused. "You're right, I do overthink things."

"At least one of us does," Din jested, reaching down to touch his helmet to hers in a gentle, but warm keldable kiss. "You'll do well, as you always do. Maybe show me a bit of that training you received from Tarre."

"I'm not ori'ramikad like you," (supercommando) she grinned beneath her helmet. "And if it's a skeleton crew, I bet the three of you will pull your blasters before I can even fumble mine out of its holster."

"You don't fumble," he chuckled. "And I'm not ori'ramikad."

" _Sure_ ," she drawled sarcastically, slipping away from him as she noticed Cara poking her head in through the doorway. "I watched the other mandos do drills before we met back up. They still don't have much on you." Ciri knew that complimenting him would make him doleful, he never took them well. 

"You're biased."

"Maybe, but since when have I been known to exaggerate?" she started toward the doorway, eyes sliding over the landspeeder that was driven by the Mythrol that Din had apparently hunted once before. The mention of being frozen in cryo had made her shudder, thankful that she hadn't gotten sick from the machine like this alien claimed he had. 

Truthfully, she hadn't remembered much about Nevarro City considering all she'd seen of it was when her wet hair had been plastered in her face and Mando had been forcing her through the streets. After that, she'd only been semi conscious after his rescue, so seeing it illuminated by its sun was very different. It reminded her slightly of Arvala-7 due to the dry landscape, but instead of terracotta mountains, the horizon was dotted with the shifting waves of obsidian lava flats. 

Jumping into the back of the landspeeder, she sat between Cara and Din, running through a quick check on her blaster - which she had been able to properly reload with the arsenal on the Crest. "What are those? I've not seen grenades like that," Dune pointed out the small disks on her belt.

"Canary grenades," Ciri answered. "I'd show you how they work today, but you wouldn't be able to watch. They're not lethal, but they emit a very high pitched frequency which scrambles radio signals and at close enough proximity is strong enough to burst eardrums. Whoever hears it won't be getting up, between being disoriented, in pain, and losing sense of up or down due to vertigo. Our helmets are tuned to filter the frequencies."

"Damn, maybe I need to become Mandalorian too," Cara joked. "You guys have the coolest gadgets."

"She made those," Din informed Cara, brimming with pride.

Her cheeks flushed beneath her helmet. "I did," she agreed softly, having been inspired by the Black Canary to create a non lethal stunning grenade. 

"Did you make things... y'know... before?" Cara asked inquisitively.

"No, that's a newer talent," Ciri admitted with a light, nervous chuckle. "Gotta know how to replenish arsenals amongst other things. Not just armor. If I needed to, I could create a blaster from scratch. Most of the time I just run modifications since the amount of work that would be required to actually hollow out a barrel would take a lot of time. But knowing how to create cartridges is more often applied. Plus I can replenish his Whistling Birds, which are not easy to acquire."

Din patted his vambrace where the mechanism she referred to was. He had apparently used a volley on Coruscant, in which she had to replace him. Ciri didn't mind it, as it gave her something to do since he wouldn't let her fly the ship. Nor did he put up much fuss, since it was what she had trained to do. Weapons might have been his religion, to Ciri they were a part of her work and job. Taking them apart, knowing where each piece went, how to replace it, how to fix it, how to make it - she'd fiddled around with various pieces in Din's arsenal just to familiarize herself. She supposed weapons and armor were her religion now.

"Learn anything else?" Cara prompted as they glided across the sulfuric landscape.

"How to fly," Ciri perked up.

"You been flying the Crest?"

"No," Din answered immediately. "She's a menace."

"What he means to say, is that I'm the best pilot he's ever seen, but I'm more useful taking care of stocking our supplies or making modifications," Ciri corrected smartly.

"No, I mean that the only time you'll ever fly the Crest is if I'm physically unable to," Din countered.

"Oh c'mon, it can't be that bad," Cara laughed. "We'll have to go for a flight. I'll be the judge on whether or not Doc is a good pilot."

"Your funeral," Din grumbled.

Ciri was still smiling, though her eyes listed. This was the calm before the storm, the few moments of laughter they'd get before they had to clean out the Imperial outpost. Again, the Force hummed in the back of her throat. While it wasn't an intoxicating feeling, she still heeded the warning. Whatever they were going to find there wouldn't be life threatening, but she expected that she wasn't going to like the purpose of this outpost. It seemed too large just to be a small garrison, but then again she'd never seen an Imperial outpost.

A hand brushed hers, feeling Din's palm closing over the top of the palm she had planted against the seat beside him. Her heart settled down for a moment, the comfort of the small motion slipping over her. Both of them would have been happy not to touch anything Imperial with a stick, but life was never that easy. She wondered if each time he came to Nevarro, if he saw his life flash in front of his eyes, contemplating what had almost happened when they were separated. That very thought made her fingers tighten on his, trying to push out the image of the blood pooling beneath his helmet as he refused help. All because of Moff Gideon.

_He's dead._

Trying to focus on something else, she looked amongst the black hills, thankful she couldn't smell the sulfur from the lava. Each planet surprised her by their strange, varying climates. Why anyone would think that this planet, without any flora, was worth living on puzzled her. And yet there was an entire town thriving amongst the break in the lava flats. There were animals too, they passed a few goat-like creatures with glowing eyes, and Dune had been petting a little rodent out on the street before hopping into the speeder. 

Skimming between two plateaus, even larger than those on Nevarro, her eyes panned up to check the mountainous ridges. There was no one up there, no Tuskens laying in wait. Yet, she kept watch just in case, her retinue down as they continued between the dark walls. Heat welled around them from the trickles of molten lava, the tide low; such a strange thought that lava had tides like the ocean. But she did not question it, she only listened and tried to commit these tidbits to memory.

Hewn into the inky, porous stone like Minas Tirith, was the outpost. The landspeeder pulled up at the base of the mountain, stealing away in the shadows from the landing strips and artillery. 

"Remember - infiltrate, find and overload the reactor, and then leave before this place melts down," Cara recounted the plan, showing the interior of the outpost's layout on a holographic chip. 

"We need to be quick," Din said, tilting his helmet toward the Mythrol. "Keep the speeder running."

"How close do you want me to stay?" the alien tittered nervously, swallowing as it stared at the door. Obviously, he had been planning on putting a little distance between him rather than waiting by the door.

"Either you're going to wait here and get 100 years knocked off your debt, or you're going to walk home, alone on the lava flats with just your humidity vest. And given how dry the flats are, I doubt that vest will last all the way back to the city," Karga snarked, narrowing his dark eyes at his charge.

"Alright, waiting by the door..." the blue humanoid simpered.

The quad dismounted and trotted up to the door. Ciri realized immediately that the controls were melted, probably not equipped to deal with how hot this section of the river would get when the lava rose with the tide. 

"Close enough right? I mean I can go hide the speeder a little more-" 

"You're not moving until I say otherwise," Karga snapped irritably.

"But it's too hot. The tide could rise and then my gills-"

"I'll knock another 30 years off if you get your flange cutter and make yourself useful," the magistrate suggested.

Grumbling, the alien got out of the speeder, opening the trunk to pull out a set of enormous pliers. Her head tilted back up, a slight tap on her arm drawing her attention. While Dune and Karga leered at the alien, Din made a quick hand gesture. Ciri nodded, understanding the suggestion, igniting her jetpack and sailing up the rise to land on a platform. Four stormtroopers turned, confused and startled. 

Ciri threw a canary grenade.

The troopers crumpled to the ground, their helmets not modified to properly translate the noise, clinging to their heads as the screaming of the grenade blotted out their agony. Ciri drew her blaster, putting two of them out of their misery, before Din finished the others, rounding on a fifth who sputtered out to see what the commotion was. Before she could raise her pistol again, Din engaged his grappling hook, which pinned the trooper's arms and legs together. Jerking the rope forward, he untangled the soldier and sent them screaming over the edge of the cliff.

"That wasn't very nice," Ciri commented as she heard a thump ending the shouting.

"I'd say the same about your grenade."

"There's more-" she objected, drawing her beskad and bracing her pistol over her arm as four more troopers sprinted into view. Despite the original tumultuous emotions she had in regards to killing, she felt her temper flare at the sight of the white plastoid. The way they'd treated her and the child, the way she hadn't even been sentient in their eyes, the way that they'd joked about earth being inferior... Maybe she didn't care if they died.

Darting forward with her partner, they closed the gap. Din moved with more precision and feral grace than her, each movement purposeful and well honed. Ciri felt like a stubby little troll in comparison to his poise, but she knew how to get the job done either way. Turning the blade of her beskard, she used the flat to slam up into the visor of the trooper across from her, stunning him before she turned up her blaster and finished the job. Spinning around, she ducked beneath the red bolt of another trooper, which had actually been quite accurate. Flying from her hand like a dagger, the beskad sliced through the armor and planted itself in the chest of the soldier that had just shot at her. The plastic rended, crimson slicing the white like a fresh kill dashed in Krownest's virgin snow.

The Force thrummed in her muscles, helmet tilting as her retinue pinged on one trooper trying to stumble back through the hangar to alert the others. Lifting her blaster, she gunned him down. For now, the dozen troopers that they had encountered were taken care of. Stalking over to where her beskad had landed, she placed her foot on the body and jerked the weapon off, wiping the blood off against her midnight pants. 

"You did get better," Din sauntered up beside her, his voice low, the husky edge of it sending a pleasant, hot shiver down her spine. "You were always a good shot, but-" he glanced around at the carnage. "-in beskar'gam, moving like that, cyare, you're not just a medic anymore."

"I was never just a medic. But now... Ni Mando'ad," (I am Mandalorian) she answered, the heat of the battle still surging her pulse and setting herself on edge. Reminded duly of the better hunts on Krownest and the dogfights in the cockpit of a starship - Ciri felt alive. Not because she savored the death, but because it set her heart running, putting her expertise and training to full practice, and finding rhythm in the deadly dance she'd admired Din do so many times before. 

"Sirbur bic tug'yc sa meg," (Say it again like that) he muttered, brushing close to her.

Ciri realized then that she'd turned him on. Startled lightly by the lean of him against her, she astonished herself by not minding, her own heart still rushing with the heat of battle. Why would it be any different for him? On multiple occasions she had found Din exceptionally sexy when he was fighting. The fact that he thought the same of her brought an amused smile to her mouth. "You deviant," she chuckled goodnaturedly, palming his chest just as the elevator opened and their allies joined them. "Hold your horses, ka'rta."

"Ka'rta?"

"Looks like the base isn't empty," Ciri declared, nudging a stormtrooper with the toe of her boot. 

"Thanks for leaving some for us," Cara glanced at the carnage, lowering her weapon as the opposing trio approached. 

"Nice to have a pair of Mandalorians as our forward line," Greef commented, his own blasters in his hands, but clearly pleased that he didn't have to shoot. "Thought you said that Doc was just a medic."

"She's Mandalorian, even medics know how to fight," Din retorted, brushing past her and toward the open hangar. 

A chill raked down her back as she kept hold on her beskad and pistol, edging into the facility, reminded of her time in the Imperial ship. The same clinical walls, cool steel, and smooth arches that were all so uniform and lacking personality. The visage of her old cell flickered in front of her eyes, quickening her breath. A hand gripped her arm. "Ciri?"

"I'm fine," she assured Din. "Just... don't like Imperial stuff. The sooner we get out of here, the better I'll feel. I won't let it get in the way of the mission."

Leaving behind the hangar and the valuable items that might've been good to sell on the black market, Cara took point, the low conversation of an unmodulated voice reporting that their security feed had gone down. For a place that was supposed to be a skeleton crew, Ciri thought there was still a good amount of Imperial presence. Darting inward and with surprising stealth for such a large woman, Cara loomed over the officer and cut him off with a hand over his mouth and bicep curled around his throat. 

After a couple of minutes, the man had suffocated and the rest of the party was able to enter without their presence being noted. Din went to the camera feed, turning multiple off as Greef plucked a silver cylinder off the corpse. "This'll come in handy," he remarked, though she had no idea what it was. 

Without anyone in the command center watching, they were able to steal deeper into the base like thieves in the night. Her own head on a swivel, she wondered what this place was used for. Seemed too much activity for just a simple outpost. Otherwise, they would have just abandoned it when Gideon had died. It had to have some other purpose for the remnants to keep lingering. 

Pinning herself against the wall, a pair of stormtroopers passed by, unaware of the insurgents standing just down the hall. They continued on their way, blissfully unaware. Part of her, a dark part, told her to shoot them there and snuff out their lives. But she shook those thoughts from her head as the Mythrol sliced through a door with the cylinder that had been pilfered from the officer. 

Heat billeted her as the doors opened to reveal a crimson chasm, a rod plunging down into the magma to control the temperature and explosions that would naturally occur. She wondered how much energy the reactor gained by converting the river's power. She couldn't even hazard a guess since she hadn't studied physics as her major in college. Flanking the door, she kept watch whilst the Mythrol was tasked with tampering with the coolant lines. He was hesitant, again citing that his species didn't do well with heat. 

"Do it or I'll put you back into carbonite," Din gritted out, the blue figure not needing much urging as he carefully skirted along the edge of the grates.

The Force bellowed, making Ciri jump, feeling the ethereal tug out of the room. She took a step forward, Cara's head snapping toward her. "What are you doing? We have to shut down the reactor first-"

"I need to... There's something I must do," Ciri stammered, the pulling so strong that she took another few steps. "I have to do it or else."

"Just give us another second," Cara hissed, turning her head back to the others. "Hey, the Doc's magic senses are tingling. Can you hurry up?"

"I'm going as quickly as I can," the alien snipped back, trembling slightly as he shut down the coolant lines.

Din was beside her in a second, the uncomfortable pull of the Force without acting on it twisting like a knife in her stomach. "What is it?"

"I'm sensing that there is something here we need to see, but... we don't have a lot of time," she answered quickly. "I have to go. Whatever it is, the Force is telling me to go before it's too late."

"Got it!" the alien squealed, a loud pop behind him nearly causing him to stumble off the narrow platform. Catching himself on the machinery, he shuffled back over. "We've got like 15 minutes before this place is a pile of mush."

"Lead the way," Din insisted.

Ciri didn't need anymore ushering, her legs kicking out beneath her as she launched into a sprint. The outpost's sirens were blaring, a dull throb in her ears as she took deliberate turns, beckoned by the Force. She flew into a laboratory, a pair of scientists jumping at her arrival. Without hesitation, without an afterthought, she raised her hand and flung them against the wall with the Force. Shooting the first, she lifted her hand again, pinning the other against the steel. His legs scrabbled beneath him as he floundered. 

"I know you," Ciri whispered, eyes widening beneath her helmet as she looked around the room. There were several tanks of blue liquid, deformed humanoids floating within them. "You worked with Pershing."

"Kill... me. Kill me."

" _What is this place_?" she roared, fingers tightening on the air as the man sputtered, trying to grab his throat. "Tell me. _Tell me now_!" But her grip on him was too tight, her anger and fear boiling over. She crushed his windpipe, his body spasming for a few moments before he went limp from being deprived of oxygen. Dropping him to the floor with a thump, she grasped the edge of the computer station, mind raging like a dark stormy ocean. 

"Cyare. _Cyare_!" she blinked again and her swimming visor was being tilted up to look toward Din's, his gloves on either side of her face.. Completely disoriented for a moment, she drew a few shuddering breaths as she realized what she had just done. She had drawn upon the Dark Side of the Force, just as she had on Arvala-7. 

"Splice it!" Dune snarled to the Mythrol as he puttered over the computers beside them. 

"I-I-I," she stammered, wondering what Tarre would think of what she just did. Pushing herself off the desk, she stood up and turned to look at the warbling transmissions that the alien was managing to draw up. Familiar spectacles being nervously pushed up a nose before coming into focus leered into view. Doctor Pershing was recording a message. 

"Experiment 37 was also a catastrophic failure. Despite the fact that originally there were promising effects, the body has rejected the blood. It is highly doubtful that we will find another donor with an M-count as high as the earthling, but also the concentration of the M-count could also be why each volunteer is meeting the same regrettable fate. The Child's blood might be more pliable, but we would need access to the both of them to run more experiments. I will not disappoint you, Moff Gideon."

Her breath caught, eyes stretching at that name. This had to be old. There had been over two years since she had been in their care. 

"This must be old," Din spoke for her. 

"No, it's only from three days ago," the Mythrol assured him.

Ciri's fingers tightened on the desk, her visor snapping up to look at the malformed, grotesque figures. It didn't take a genius to know what happened. She knew exactly what they had been doing with her blood now. Only now, she realized that the Empire wasn't as scattered as they had originally hoped. She and Grogu were still in danger, but perhaps the child was more considering that her midi-chlorian count was too high to be successfully transfused. 

"Did either of you understand that?" Cara glanced between the Mandalorians.

"Gideon isn't dead," Ciri said simply, her voice cold and mechanical. 

But the conversation didn't continue. Her head snapped up first just as the door opened and a platoon of stormtroopers observed them. "We have to get the kid," panic lanced in Din's voice as they all ducked beneath the computer system to evade incoming blaster fire. 

"Get out of here through the reactor chamber. The both of you have jetpacks," Cara advised. "We'll carve our way out. Don't worry about us."

Ciri gave a thankful nod, standing up to return a volley of fire, taking down a soldier that had leaned out too much. Peeling off from rest of the part, the Mandalorians started back down the hallway they'd entered the lab from. There were no thoughts, nothing other than the methodical instinct in her body as the Force guided her. There was no lightsaber, but she didn't need it. Beside Djarin, the both of them moved in cohesive unison, no words needing to be exchanged as they disengaged any approaching troopers. To them, the fight was a choreographed as a dance and it was easy to slip past the undertrained Imps. 

Ducking beneath incoming fire, Ciri huffed a breath, Din striking down the trooper that she had dodged. Two more waited at the end of the corridor, balking at the silhouettes the Mandalorians cut, having swept through the rest of their company. She didn't get the chance to vent more of her frustration, Din letting a blastershot ping off of his chestplate before continuing forward, using his flamethrower to melt the helmets onto their victims permanently. He tilted his helmet back toward her and she galloped after, head throwing up as she stared at the quickly declining reactor. 

Their jetpacks weren't even audible as they sailed up through the natural cavern and out of the top of the volcano. Breaking the rim of the mountain, the wind whipped around them before they devoted their path back toward Nevarro City. Following Din's lead, her own tempers quivered like an earthquake. The original peace she had felt, the calm of knowing they only had to fight for Mandalore was shattered. Gideon wouldn't let her go and just look for the child. He'd want the both of them. 

"I'll get the ship, go get Grogu," Ciri told him through the comlink.

"You think I'm going to-" he started.

"Do it. Please."

They split paths as Ciri landed neatly beside the Razor Crest, her time with the jetpack increasing her ability. She opened the dock to the ship and threw herself inside, scrambling up the ladder and plopping herself down in the pilot seat, her fingers ran along the controls. Turning the Crest on, checking if the repairs had been successful, before hearing the dock lower for a second time. Din entered the cockpit and before he had the chance to sit down, she seized the wheel and took them off the ground. He staggered, managing to get him and the child into the co-pilot seat before she started back toward the outpost. The Force guided her again, leading her down toward the high ridges that they had entered upon approaching the mission. 

Her retinue, which was still down, locked onto the TIE fighters that were strafing around the mountains. The Crest was still high above them and she took advantage of their fixation on a fleeing vehicle on the ground. Flipping up the cannon controls, she drove them down, shooting the first starfighter before jerking to the right, bringing them around as the Imperials were nearly out of the canyons. 

Doubling back, she cut the exit for the fighters off, lighting them up one by one as they were funneled out of the mouth of stone. One leered up, tilting 90 degrees to make a start for the atmosphere. "Oh no you don't," she snarled, lancing after them as they climbed higher into the sky. Dodging between clouds, her visor traced after the black ship. 

"There's another behind us-" Din objected.

"Right-" she waited, the Force thundering, before she turned away, the following TIE fighter's cannon bolts striking their ally instead of the Crest. The child squealed as she let the last TIE fighter list by, before training the cannons on. She shot it down.

Her pulse still tensed, her heart beat loud like ear drums in her ears as she started the Razor Crest back toward the city. Despite the fact that she didn't have a single thought strung together in a phrase, they felt impossibly loud as she considered the lab. She shouldn't have been so surprised by finding out what the blood was being used for, but the fact that Moff Gideon wasn't dead... A breath stuttered in the back of her throat, her original worries returning with a vengeance. This would only cause more issues for her comrades back on Concord Dawn. Could they even return while knowing that the Empire's gauntlet would follow? No. It wouldn't be fair to ask that of the other Mandalorians. Gideon needed to die before they could risk going back out to the planet or to Ka'ra.

"Well... you did manage to make one of us throw up," Din's voice broke through the maelstrom in her head. Snapping her head back, she saw that Grogu had vomited all over his robes.

She was quiet for a moment before a soft chuckle parted her mouth. "He likes my flying. Although I was a bit rougher than back on Tatooine."

Grogu garbled in agreement, despite the mess he had made. "Buir."

"Ah!" she exclaimed in excitement, breaking from her dark thoughts. 

"That makes one of us," Din countered, but the smile in his voice was clear when he glanced down at the child.

Landing outside the city, the Mandalorians trotted down to meet their companions. Ciri had calmed down a bit by this point, but she was still worried about lingering on Nevarro and undoing all the good work that Cara and Greef had done. Just the pride in both of them for reforming the planet indicated that the pair had much more to lose if they remained. 

"Spectacular flying!" Karga proclaimed excitedly. "What do I owe you two? The cost for two Mandalorians, instead of just one, is certainly more than I originally anticipated. After all, Doc obviously isn't just a medic."

"Just the repairs," Din answered. "We can call it even after that."

"Why don't the two of you come back for another round of drinks? I feel like I owe you a little more than just the repairs," Karga entreated.

"We have important business to take care of," Din countered, causing Ciri to purse her lips. "We need to get moving before Gideon comes back for us."

"Wait, before you go-" Cara stepped up, holding a chip in her hand. "Doc, these are your chain codes. Upload them into your armor."

Ciri stepped forward and took the coin, Dune grasping her a moment longer than necessary. "Good luck," she whispered before releasing her. 

Giving a small nod, Ciri followed Din back onto the Razor Crest, flipping the coin over in her hand a few times as the dock closed and her partner went up into the cockpit to take them off planet. She was only brought back to reality as Grogu tottered up and palmed her boots. Glancing down at his messy tunic, she let out a low sigh and tucked the coin into her pocket for later. 

"Sorry buddy, you must've been worried," she sighed, taking her helmet off and sitting down with him. Rather than keep speaking, she pressed her face to his, a shaky breath quivering across her shoulders. Immediately, his thoughts assaulted her, sensing her disquiet, and trying to learn more about it. She blocked him out partially, not willing to tell him that Gideon was alive and that the Empire was still looking for them. He garbled, frustrated by being shut out. "I can't. How was your day?" she shifted the subject, despite the imploring gaze. She began to clean his clothes.

He was eager to share, distracted immediately by her question as he showed her a set of blue cookies he'd acquired - albeit unfairly. Then again, the other kid hadn't been willing to share and definitely seemed as if he could have been laying off the cookies. The child's simple conversation calmed her, about how he'd learned about a few planets that neighbored Nevarro, and how he'd gotten to play with the girl with pigtails. 

"We'll go back. You're making a lot of friends, aren't you?" she mused, the corners of her mouth tugging up as she smoothed the fuzz on the top of his head. "It's been a long day. What do you want? Food?"

"Sog."

"A song?" she inquired.

Grogu nodded.

"Well..." she wasn't really in the mood to sing, but if it would keep him calm. Few songs came to mind at the moment, however with the lore of Tolkein's stories still in the back of her mind after recounting three of his books, she found solace in a song that hit closer to home than she cared to admit in her fragile state. Clearing her throat, she began the ballad, substituting multiple words.

" _Oh, misty eye of the mountain below_

_Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls_

_And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke_

_Keep watching over Manda's sons_

_If this is to end in fire_

_Then we should all burn together_

_Watch the flames climb high into the night_

_Calling out for the rope_

_Stand by and we will_

_Watch the flames burn on and on_

_The mountain side, hey_

_And if we should die tonight_

_Then we should all die together_

_Raise a glass of wine for the last time_

_Calling out for the rope_

_Prepare as we will_

_Watch the flames burn on and on_

_The mountain side_

_Desolation comes upon the sky_

_Now I see fire_

_Inside the mountain_

_And I see fire_

_Burning the trees_

_And I see fire_

_Hollowing souls_

_And I see fire_

_Blood in the breeze_

_And I hope that you remember me_

_Oh, should my people fall_

_Then surely I'll do the same_

_Confined in mountain halls_

_We got too close to the flame_

_Calling out for the rope_

_Hold fast and we will_

_Watch the flames burn on and on_

_The mountain side_

_Desolation comes upon the sky_

_Now I see fire_

_Inside the mountain_

_And I see fire_

_Burning the trees_

_And I see fire_

_Hollowing souls_

_And I see fire_

_Blood in the breeze_

_And I hope that you remember me_

_And if the night is burning_

_I will cover my eyes_

_For if the dark returns_

_Then my brothers will die_

_And as the sky is falling down_

_It crashed into this lonely town_

_And with that shadow upon the ground_

_I hear my people screaming out_

_Now I see fire_

_Inside the mountains_

_I see fire_

_Burning the trees_

_I see fire_

_Hollowing souls_

_I see fire_

_Blood in the breeze_

_I see fire_

_Oh you know I saw a city burning out_

_And I see fire_

_Feel the heat upon my skin, yeah_

_And I see fire_

_And I see fire burn on and on the mountain side._ "

Rocking the child in her arms, the parting words of the end of the song lanced through her heart at the insinuation and the crushing darkness that had weighed down on her shoulders just earlier that day. He was asleep, sighing gently as she stood up, noticing that Din was standing at the base of the ladder, watching. She didn't mind as much anymore, though she felt this performance wasn't as stellar as her others. Tucking Grogu into bed, she leaned against the wall after closing the bunk door, pressing her hand to her face. 

"Cyare-" he approached her, drawing his hand along her jaw, tilting her face up toward his visor. "I'm sorry. I thought he was dead. I thought-"

"Din, it's not your fault," a soft, but hurt chuckle passed her lips. "Seems your dream was more accurate than we thought. Thankfully, you're not Force-sensitive or there might be more weight in that being a premonition." She was deflecting, desperate to hope that Gideon wouldn't find them. Even if they could fight, it was like having the eye of Sauron trained on them and Grogu was the ring, Ciri as Frodo. 

"I failed," he growled, pulling a hand back as his fingers tightened into fists. "I knew that going to Nevarro was a risk last time. I thought if I could kill Gideon that it would be one last thing to worry about. And then when we met again that it wouldn't be an afterthought."

"It's better that we're aware of who may be tracking us," she reminded him gently, putting a palm against his chestplate. "You're only human, Din."

He wasn't placated, startling her when he punched the wall. 

"D-Din?" she reached for his hand, worried that he had injured his knuckles from how loud the bang was. 

He let her take his glove off, revealing the torn surface of his knuckles. "I need to protect the both of you. You're my clan. The risk I took on Nevarro months ago was in vain," he grit out as she ran her gloved fingers over his injury, coasting the Force over the wound to heal it. "Why?" he whispered, raising the hand with a glove still on it to smooth her braids. "Why would anyone want to hurt you or the child? The two of you are capable of miracles and yet, they'd rather keep you as blood donors for their own sick experiments."

"Let us not forget what I did this afternoon," she said quietly, shoulders lolling in slight shame. "I let my anger get the better of me. I'm not infallible."

"You're only human," he repeated, letting her words hang on the air. "Did you understand what Pershing was referring to in the transmission?"

Ciri nodded slowly, knowing a bit about midi-chlorians from asking Mace Windu. "I was able to piece it together. When I was first abducted, he did tell me what made me special. They're called midi-chlorians, which are microscopic life-forms that live within all life. You have them too. A plant has them. A frog has them. Some people have a lot of them and those people are like me and Grogu. Jedi were also these people. The Force is derived from midi-chlorians, woven into our being in our blood. A normal person might have... about 2,500 per cell. Most Jedi had between 6-10,000. More adept Jedi had 15,000. I don't know how many I have or how many Grogu has, but I expect my own is uncommonly high. Perhaps higher than 15,000. 

"The more you have, the more in tune you are with the Force. So... the experiments seem to be about injecting midi-chlorians into willing hosts to try and make them Force-sensitive. But..." her brows snared together. "I don't know how they could think that would work. Midi-chlorians are not simply a virus that can be converted into a super soldier serum, they're sentient, alive. They wouldn't bind with a host. They don't work that way. If a person is meant to be Force-sensitive, then they'll be born that way. To think they could manipulate nature, to trick it to do what they want..."

"Gideon is trying to become Force-sensitive," Din gleaned.

"Maybe. If he really has the darksaber, then he might think himself worthy of being Sith - the Dark form of a Jedi - dar'jetii. But again, it doesn't work that way. He is severely misguided, which is strange considering how he carries himself," Ciri muttered, greatly disturbed that someone thought science could trope the mystical midi-chlorians. "He must be waiting until someone responds well to the transfusions before he'll risk taking it himself... I wonder how many 'volunteers' have died for an experiment that'll never work. Being disillusioned into believing that maybe they could become dar'jetii." Her stomach churned, so violently, that she had to stumble away from Din and toward the 'fresher. She only barely made it, emptying the contents of her stomach as she shook at the thought.

He was by her in a moment as she coughed, a cup of water in his hand, as he rubbed her lower back which was not obscured by her beskar. "We both already knew how twisted he was."

"I know," Ciri murmured. "But... it's so wrong. God. I wonder if the Force is doing this to me-" she bent back over the bowl, shielding her face slightly in embarrassment. Her mind buzzed, the whispering of the disquieted spirits blurring her mind, unable to pick out one specific voice and listen. "They're upset. What he's doing... The Force doesn't like it."

"The Force is... living like that?"

"Yes, oh god-" she bowed her head. "I-I can talk to spirits more easily than others. It's my gift and how I'm able to reach out to the spirits of the deceased Jedi or to those that are alive and across the galaxy. But it's not just the Light Side... The Dark Side does not like this either."

"How can you hear them too?"

"After what I did to that scientist... they're louder than usual. That Force-choke is not something a Jedi would have done. But... between both sides, they agree that what Gideon is doing is trying to play God. Our gift is not something that should be subjective. They're so angry-" she closed her eyes, trying to shut them out. 

" _Gar kemir haar olar acyk. Mar'eyir garast ad_ ," (You walk the path between. Find yourself, daughter) the voice of her commander hummed in her ears, breaking through the unidentifiable voices, shattering their arguing with the power in his tone.

"T-Tarre-" she whispered, swallowing hard as she felt his calm wash over her. 

" _Gar cabuor gar aliit. Ogir nayc nibral o'r ibac._ " (You protected your family. There is no shame in that)

Control. Licking her lips, she sat up and blinked a few times. He was right. What she had done might have been out of rage and fear, but he had told her that fear was only dangerous when not wielded properly. Jedi would say that it couldn't be honed at all, that lashing in fear would only result in negative outcomes. However, she had retained her mind during that fight despite killing the Imp too soon. She had cut herself off after ending his life, reeling, but still herself. 

"Ciri?" Din was still beside her, unaware of the mental turmoil she was quietly battling with. 

Accepting the water finally, she drained the cup and offered him a reassuring look. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I... had to calm down. Tarre brought me back. It's easy to only wish to stay on the path of the Light, but since I became Mandalorian instead of a Jedi, I committed to walking the Grey - that in between - because I'll always fear for my mortal bonds, my love for you and Grogu. I can... do it, it's just a bit confusing. I did it back on Krownest when I thought you had died. In that moment, I could have been overwhelmed by the Dark Side because of my grief, but... I wasn't. I'm probably not making much sense-" she let out a pitiful laugh.

"No, it's not that confusing. It's a scale and each ability borrows from different sides. You just have to balance it out in the end," he reasoned. "You used too much of the Dark today."

Ciri nodded slowly, her lip trembling. "Borrowing from the Dark isn't as good. The Light... there's no repercussions. But the Dark has so much unbridled power. The things I could do with it-" she flexed her fingers anxiously at the thought. "It's a good thing that I'm not ambitious in that aspect. My healing powers draw from the Light, which are much more important to me."

Din's bare hand slid over her shoulder, dragging her across the 'fresher floor to almost sit in his lap. Nuzzling her chin just above the groove of his heartplate, she let a soft sigh part her mouth before realizing that she'd just thrown up a few times. 

"I... need to brush my teeth."

"I can't smell anything," he reminded her.

"I'm gross, let me go."

"No," he retorted obstinately. "You can wait a moment."

Ciri relaxed slightly, but was curious as to why he was being so insistent. 

"Did you upload your chain codes yet?"

"Oh, no. Not yet," she reached into her pouch and pulled the coin out, sliding it into the receptacle on her vambrace. The groove was intended for programming and she'd used it to program the Razor Crest's controls to her own vambrace. A soft mechanical clicking resounded before pinging, light illuminating as the chain codes flickered up on a hologram. She couldn't read them, written in a language she didn't comprehend. She could only read Mando'a runes outside of English. "What do chain codes say?"

"They're identifiers. They state things like your name, birthdate, home planet, a general number is assigned to you-"

"Oh like a social security number," Ciri realized. 

"I don't know what that is."

"The American version of a chain code. Sort of," she ran her eyes over the shapes. "Cara didn't put earth as my home planet, did she?"

"No, I had her put Krownest."

"Then I assume you didn't have her put my earth name either, since Gideon might be able to identify that... Just Cin'ciri."

"Not just," Din insisted softly. "Cin'ciri Djarin."

Her heart leapt up into her throat at his gentle voice. "Djarin?" she repeated nervously, but not because it didn't sound right. No, it was due to the insinuation. "A-are you-"

"We should make it official. If we plan to have children and settle down on Krownest eventually," Din muttered, still holding her in his arms. "Mandalorian ceremonies are personal, just an exchanging of oaths. And... I'll be able to remove my helmet in front of you. If we're riduur."

"Are you ready to? Don't feel like we have to get married just to show me your face," Ciri informed him. "I can wait."

"I've been ready to," he insisted. "But it has to be official. According to the Creed-"

"Of course. I understand the depth of your oaths," Ciri nodded a smile gracing her face. "You really had to ask me when I have puke breath?"

He laughed as she turned to look up at him. "I can't smell it. I just-" he smoothed her hair back, mostly a few small pieces of hair that had been flyaways from the way she tied it back. "I want you to know that I love you, all of you, whether in the face of your abilities or when you're not feeling well. Last time we fought... it was in regards to the Force. I know you can control it and I won't doubt you again. I think the both of us know that we're ready and after... I'll talk to you more about my past."

"Are you brokering a business deal or a marriage?" she groused in good humor. But the idea of it being a small set of oaths that they exchanged, not caring for anyone else's opinion, warmed her. Back on earth she had been so stressed by the idea of planning a wedding while deployed only to come home and find her fiancé in bed with her sister. There were so many more things that she shared with Din than Erik.

For starters, Din was a warrior, someone who knew the push and pull of battle and how it affected people mentally. On top of that, he knew how hard it was to try and talk about those tumultuous memories. Aside from now sharing the same culture, they had gotten along before their proclamations of love. They could be partners, not just lovers. Storming the outpost on Nevarro had proven that they could work in swift, fluid cohesion - becoming a force to be reckoned with. The other bits, the passion and attraction they both held for one another was a bonus, but not what had drawn them together. Ciri felt as if she could tell Din anything and not be judged. 

"Do I need to be more convincing?" Din inquired lightly.

Ciri giggled. "Marriage is so arduous and expensive on earth. Hundreds of your 'closest' friends and family want to go watch it and throw a party; all which you have to foot the bill for. To be honest, I was so stressed out about being around so many people - civilians especially - returning from deployment. Because they don't get it, that I was constantly on edge, or that I wasn't really up for getting married right when I returned. But to them, they all just thought it was the natural order of things. I'd been with Erik for a few years, most of those were when I was out in the Middle East. I've never been... decadent. I found myself preferring to be in the field than gilded scenes. The people were more honest about their intentions, whereas normal life felt... fake. People pretending to be earnest, when they're not. Putting commitment into people who didn't really comprehend what it means to be loyal because they've never been in those life or death situations.

"I suppose, it was sheer, dumb luck that Jenn and Erik surprised me when I returned. I doubt we would have lasted very long before my initial abduction," she let out a wry chuckle, leaning back against him. "Those memories used to hurt. But now, I can look back on them and realize what a godsend that was. I would have never felt the same way I do about you, Din Djarin," she reached up, brushing her fingertips against the beskar helmet, staring up imploringly into the dark T-visor, knowing that his eyes were gazing back into hers. The thought of finally seeing them sent a shiver down her spine. "I love you more than I realized I could love."

He let those words hang to dry on the air before tilting his helmet down to her brow. "You look better in beskar'gam than any dress," he informed her, bringing another smile to her face. 

"You're just happy that no one else gets to look at me. I've been flirted with a lot less now that people can't see my face," Ciri quipped.

"True," he chuckled. "People shouldn't judge based on a face. You never did that to me," his thumb trailed her chin. 

"Verd ori'shya beskar'gam," (A warrior is more than his armor) Ciri retorted with a cheeky grin. "I've met a lot of people in my life and sometimes the most attractive people are the worst. A face is just that, a face. It's not important. Not to me."

"What does that make you?"

"Obviously one in a trillion," she mused. "I'm pretty, have an amazing sense of humor, and a good head on my shoulders. You must be the luckiest man alive."

Rather than discredit her silly, yet arrogant claim, he sighed. "I am."

"You're supposed to disagree with me," Ciri scowled playfully. "I'm not perfect."

"No one is. But you're perfect for me. Scary witch magic included."

"Djarin, what have I told you about flattery before?"

"That you dislike it," he smarted. "And I think I know why, but... I like seeing you get all flustered. Your cheeks get so pink and it brings out the color of your eyes - the same color as your beskar. Today, back on Nevarro-" he let out a low rumble in his chest, her cheeks doing the very thing she didn't want them to - flushing. "So, will you marry me?"

"Maybe if you let me brush my teeth and get a good shower."

"I think I can afford that," Din admitted, sitting her up. "But after-"

Ciri pushed herself up to her feet, still a little queasy. Maybe not just because of the Force, but also the words her Mandalorian was saying to her and how she didn't need to dwell on the topic. A husband, a partner; Din Djarin. "After that, I will marry you, Din Djarin."

Before leaving her to wash off, he gripped her shoulders, pressing his helmet to her head again. Ciri imagined it might be the last time on the Crest that this happened before his helmet could be off. What was he like underneath? She knew he had brown hair, a little bit of facial hair, and a curved nose. Other than that, the rest was mostly a mystery. Not that it mattered, she'd fallen in love with the man beneath the beskar regardless of how he appeared. He could have a lazy eye and she'd still love him. But she knew he was sensitive about how he looked, so she didn't want to poke fun at him. He was worried that she might reject him. 

Why would she do that? They'd slept together multiple times, talked about having children together, settling on Krownest, then going out and doing bounties together once they resolved their problems. There was no other person that Ciri could talk to him like she'd talked to him. 

He released her, allowing for her to have the privacy of the 'fresher. Peeling her beskar'gam off, folding her kute, and removing her beads - she got into the shower and contemplated her situation. Would she trade it at all? No. Coming to this galaxy had been the best thing that had happened to her. She could use her abilities as a soldier, but in a more beneficial way - without having to be at war. She was beside a man who she considered her best friend, one that she could be brutally honest with, and one that made her stomach do flips. He found new ways to surprise her, be it his voracious sexual appetite or his sudden sweetness. 

She took back her thoughts, the ones she'd made on Coruscant where she thought he wasn't a compassionate person. Din was incredibly understanding, but everyone had a breaking point. On top of that all, he accepted her after her return and didn't try to control her. What they had was a partnership. Ciri could hold her own beside him, fight in his shadow, and tend their wounds. He'd always be the better warrior - he'd trained at it nearly his entire life. But the words that others often said - that they were astonished that the Mandalorian was tender beneath that beskar - was wrong. Even on Arvala-7, he had been courteous. 

Of course, he had a short temper, was a bit impulsive, and was incredibly jealous - but those paled in the shadow of his good traits. Even if it took him a while to open up in regards to his past, Ciri didn't think it mattered much. She loved the man she knew now, not whatever he was worried about revealing to her. Her own past was riddled with perceived failures and losing her temper - spurning family and friends. 

This was her fresh start. In a new place, with new friends, and a new life. There was nothing on earth and hadn't been for a very long time. Her home was with her aliit.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 2 is just gonna be out of order. Eventually, the plot of each (aside from Maldo Kreis/Frog Lady) will be touched upon. Just... not in the usual order.
> 
> This is probably the sweetest, most fluffiest chapter I've ever written. Enjoy ~

_"I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are evil."_

* * *

He waited, up in the cockpit, anxiously. The day had been a wild ride, the knowledge that his dream had been more accurate than he cared to admit. He hadn't even truly reacted when he saw the scientist pinned to the wall by an invisible force, choking out his last breaths as a powerful voice trembled from his cyare. Upon arriving there, he'd known that the outpost reminded her of her imprisonment. Even if she brushed it off, it caught back up with her when she saw the experiments. He could not fault her for the raw emotion, the fury as they discovered what exactly her blood had fueled. To someone gifted with the Force, it was sacrilegious - it had moved her to illness - completely overwhelmed by the shock that man would try to play God and usurp destiny to claim it as his own.

Din's mind didn't change as she tried to explain the Force to him, as she reeled from the silent noise he couldn't hear. If not for the Force, they would have never been brought together - she would have never been abducted. 

Still, the prospect of unmasking himself made him nervous. It shouldn't. Not after all her assurances that she didn't care what was beneath the helmet. But he couldn't help but think of how much she didn't know. Of all the people she hadn't met and given the same chance as him. Of men considerably better looking than himself who would have looked more at place with her by their side. But now she wore a mask of her own and her face was only reserved for him. Few people knew Ciri or would recognize her now - and all those people, Din trusted. 

He repeated what she so easily told him - _Verd ori'shya beskar'gam._

His armor had been a part of him for long, it was difficult to separate himself from it. She'd been beneath it, to heal and love him. Even when he'd been in a relationship with Xi'an, he'd never allowed her to remove his beskar. That luxury had only been given to Ciri. There was no trepidation in his decision, he was certain that he meant what he'd said, only doubt for what face and messy hair beneath the helmet. Because even if she had been joking about it - Ciri truly was one in a trillion. She was right - pretty faces weren't always reflected with as just an attractive personality. The fact that she was so beautiful, that her heart was so large and warm, and that she turned those gorgeous steel blue eyes up toward him with adoration... Din couldn't believe his luck. Even if he complained about it, her glib mouth amused him more than miffed.

The door behind him hissed open, making him jump out of his thoughts as they listed aimlessly through hyperspace. Turning to glance toward Ciri, he felt his breath hitch in the back of his throat. 

Her long, pale hair had been let loose and fluffed around her, mostly dried. Billowing in thick waves down to her waist, a few stray, shorter pieces framed her delicate face. She was wearing a dress similar to the teal petaled dress she had favored before her separation from him. Gold stripes along the X-shaped bodice, the hips sashed with soft alabaster fabric that pleated down to her socked feet. The material of this dress was a slightly paler blue, devoid of green, and made her skin glow beneath the illumination of the weeping white stars. 

"Never got to wear this one," she told him, smiling gently as she clasped her hands in front of her. "I know you said you like the beskar better, but..." she glanced down and drew a nervous breath. 

"Mesh'la," he murmured, getting up from his seat to approach her. Throwing his gloves aside, he brushed his fingers through her plush hair, turning over the fine tumbles to admire the gold. He decided that this was his favorite dress so far. Simple, light, complimenting her natural coloring and he loved seeing her hair loose and wild, the soft fluff of the flax against her fair skin. 

"Ka'rta," she complained lightly, closing her dark lashes, the light above them catching the blonde in them. 

Heart, soul; she was calling him her heart. The word was typically only used in poetic circumstances. Ciri had to know that as she was an avid and wonderful storyteller. Just days ago, she had told him the tale of The Lord of the Rings to press upon him that leadership could be found in the most unlikely of places. His little lorekeeper, standing right in front of him in the simple dress, ready to commit herself to him in every way, beneath the streaming stars that she admired so much. 

"Do you know the words?" he inquired gently, bringing a tanned hand beneath her neck, tilting her head up so that she had to look up toward his visor. The scars along her brow, creasing over her eye to brush her cheekbone - he focused on them as she blinked rapidly a few times. 

"I... not really," she admitted. "Wasn't a part of my training."

"I'd hope not," Din poked, continuing to observe the lines of her face, the small turn of her nose, vivid rosy lips lanced slightly by the scar from her battle with the ice saber. A face only for him. A face he'd committed to memory and would continue to each opportunity he got to rove it. "Are you ready?" he took her hands, the fair, but calloused palms of the tiny soldier. 

She glanced down, observing their fingers as he interlaced them. Giving a small nod, she glanced back up toward him, curving her lips up gently. "But-" she started, of course having something glib to say before they began. "-I know that in Mandalorian culture that infidelity is accepted when at war. I... you know based on my past, that I-" she stumbled through her words, cheeks flushing as she struggled to explain herself. "I can't share you," she announced finally, glancing back up toward his visor, snaring his eyes with a deep red blush across her high cheekbones.

"If there's a war, unless you're with child, we're both going," Din told her, caressing the side of her face. "I wouldn't expect that of you. The feeling is mutual. The very thought of someone else-"

"As long as we agree," she insisted calmly. "To take no other lover. I may be forgiving, but that - it's the ultimate sin to me. The ultimate betrayal of my trust."

Din knew that she was bringing this to light because of Erik, but he couldn't imagine that there might even be another woman that would come remotely close to her. Given his own jaded disposition when others glanced in her direction, he knew that no one would ever shine the way she did right in front of him that moment. With the twinkling light of hyperspace, she glowed like a goddess, her hair creating a protective curtain around her. "I promise," he swore solemnly. "You are the only one I have eyes for. Now and until the end of time as we know it."

"I didn't take you for much of a poet," Ciri teased lightly, but the wateriness of her eyes, he knew he'd hit a nerve

"I might've learned a little listening to you," Din admitted with a smile, reminiscing the stories she'd told him and the ones he'd yet to hear. So much information bottled up in such a small person, willing to share it all with him if he lent an ear. "Are you ready?"

Ciri nodded.

"Repeat after me," his voice was weaker than usual, translating hoarsely through the modulator. Despite how brazen he could be, in an exposed moment like this, even his beskar wouldn't save him. "Mhi solus tome." (We are one when together)

"Mhi solus tome," her diction was spot on, the words curling out of her mouth with languid familiarity.

"Mhi solus dar'tome," (we are one when parted) he continued. 

"Mhi solus dar'tome," she reiterated. 

"Mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde," (we will share all, we will raise warriors) he grouped the next phrases together, confident in her Mando'a.

"Mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde," she repeated, fully comprehending what she swore. Her eyes turned up, still shining with tears and brightened by the stars above them. He brought her hands up to his helmet, letting her shaking hands disengage the seal and lift it. 

His eyes refocused without the filter, straining slightly at how bright and reflective the cockpit was. She lowered the helmet, her eyes snared with his, seeing the hue of his brown irises for the first time. Drawing the helmet toward her chest, she cocked her head slightly, absorbing his visage. The length in which she didn't speak made Din's heart beat erratically, watching as she puzzled over him. 

"Cyare?"

Ciri blinked a few times, catching her breath slightly. "I don't know what you were worried about," she gave him a smile so warm than it nearly turned him into a puddle. "You're so handsome."

"Then why were you so quiet?" he griped, drawing her closer after she set his helmet down. 

"The first time I'm able to look upon your face, you can't give me a moment to drink you in?" she groused with a slight pout. "The man beneath the helmet that I fell in love with-" her hands slid up, along his jaw as she stood on the tips of her toes, leaning forward. "-so perfect." Her hips found his as she strained to brushed her mouth to his. 

Din's heart soared like a shriek-hawk, his hands sliding around her waist, lifting her up so that she could meet him at a better angle. He savored the moment, the softness of her mouth, the tickling of her hair against his face, the fresh spring and floral aroma that clung to her skin. He fell back into the pilot's chair, holding her against him in the wispy dress as he kissed her carefully, each gentle movement against her lips deliberate and insistent, intending to show his affection toward her. 

They broke away, her lashes playing across his cheek as she propped herself up, finally able to look upon all of him. Nuzzling her nose into his cheekbone, she graced him with multiple, small kisses around his face. Din set his head back, a small breath parting his mouth as she continued to pepper featherlight pecks on his face. A tiny laugh bubbled in the back of his throat. "That tickles-" he complained as she brushed just beneath his jaw.

"Does it?" the mischief in her voice indicated that he'd given away a vital point, in which she'd torture him with. She kissed him again there.

"Stop it," he warned, but his voice was too warm for the threat to be taken seriously.

"Or what?" she challenged impishly. "I'm familiarizing myself with my riduur's face. You're not going to take that luxury from me, are you?"

"Go ahead, but not there because-" he hissed as she did it again. "Cyare."

"Mm?" As nonplussed as a loth-cat lounging in the sun, she turned her eyes up toward him again. "You didn't think I'd be nicer to you, did you?"

"I'll put my helmet back on," it was out of reach on the co-pilot's seat. Her gaze turned over to it before she arched a brow at him

"Really?" she drawled sardonically. "I'd like to see you try."

Din struggled slightly, making a mock effort to get up, before she pushed him back down. She seized control, fingers curving into the collar of his kute above his chestplate as she kissed his mouth hungrily. Breaking away to give him a moment to breathe, she cocked her head at him. 

"Educate me, because I'm not too familiar with Mandalorian marriage traditions, but do we seal the arrangement with consummation?" she questioned, her mellow voice sending shivers down his spine at her bold inquiry. 

"You're in such a pretty dress," he teased, running his fingers down through her curtain of hair. 

She let out an offended scoff. "The first time you've denied me. Is this the man I fell in love with or someone else entirely?"

"No," he said carefully, coasting his fingers beneath her riding ivory skirt to feel her smooth legs against his exposed palm. "I always want you. Be it in a dress, in beskar, or with nothing on-" he felt her hip beneath the skirt, observing her devilish smile before he realized that she hadn't worn underwear again. Huffing a loud sigh, he flicked his eyes up toward hers. "Is this going to be a common occurrence?" He wasn't vexed, quite the contrary, there was something incredibly arousing about his riduur walking around with nothing on beneath her clothes, just waiting for him to discover her dirty secret.

"No," she purred, bringing her face to his, leaning slightly into his hips. "I didn't see a point today. However, it's certainly more comfortable to wear underwear when I'm in my kute. The pants ride up and-" she realized she was rambling, cutting herself off with a tight smile. "You didn't answer my original question."

Drawing his fingers along the slope of her hip, he watched as she closed her eyes and pressed into his face, shivering slightly. His grasp trailed on the inside of her pelvis before finding between her thighs as she straddled him. She was incredibly warm, his fingers tracing the freshly manicured skin - a soft trail of hair along her mound, but groomed around the edges and along her folds. He grazed her heat, pleased to find how wet she was from just the exchanging of vows and chaste kisses. Watching her the entirety of the time, his eyes traced the slight turn of her head, the tumbles of blonde hair falling about her shoulders, and the hitch of her bodice which was pressed delicately against her slender frame. 

Eyes half-lidded, her mouth only parted slightly as she gazed intently up at him. Slipping fingers into her core, he savored the ability to watch her expressions, eyes included as she moaned, nails punching into the fabric of his kute, stinging slightly against his collar. His free hand snared up, grasping her by the side of her face, tangling in her long hair as he pulled her mouth to his. Colliding like the stars above them, Din Djarin lost himself completely in her warm embrace, the sweet taste of her mouth, and the intoxicating feel of her skin beneath his. Unlike so many times before this, the ability to give her everything, for her to see him fully beneath the light of hyperspace and love him in his entirety. Her affection and words made his skin tingle, the warmth of her fingertips roaming his face, caressing him as if there weren’t a care in the universe. As gentle as a summer wind, wrapping him in the blanket of her golden hair. 

Her fingers found his belt buckle, dexterously undoing it as she had before, pressing her knees along either side of him as she pushed the skirt out of the way. His arousal was blatant, tenting the soft white fabric of her dress briefly before she brushed his hand away, guiding his hardness against her lower lips before she slid herself slowly to engulf him. His fingers coasted the small of her back as she shuddered, chewing her lower lip as she tried to accommodate him. Finally, a relieved sigh opened her mouth, her lashes still turned down as she pressed against him.

Din's neck lolled slightly, gripping her waist as she began riding him gently. Bending back down, she met his lips, plying carefully at his mouth, tenderly - with the full care of the medic that had healed him numerous times before. Her tenuous attention was so much better than her glib bedside manner as his voice was caught in the back of his throat, a moan finally escaping him as she rocked against him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Each silken stride prickled his skin with electricity, followed by a gentle upturn of her chin as she pushed her lips to his, tangling a hand into his short hair. 

All that he'd imagined he would feel was blown out of the water, the embrace of their clothed forms obscuring what was happening beneath the cusp of her skirt, but despite not seeing her, he felt utterly overwhelmed. Now, she could see his reactions, the straining of his brows and closed eyes as she pushed his manhood into her cervix. His riduur was careful and attentive, her lips burning against his cheek, then his ear, finding his neck as she tugged down the fabric of his armorweave. Sucking delicately on the hollow of his throat, his fingers tightened, digging through the fabric of her gown and into her thighs. Each slight movement, amorous kiss, and quiet moan like Manda was inside him. 

"Cyare," his voice was shallow, unable to take a full breath as she controlled him with her featherlight touches, each one sending a gratifying quiver skimming along his hot skin. 

She clenched her legs, making him jump slightly in the seat, stifling a loud groan between his teeth. Turning a golden head up toward him, she pressed her nose to his. "Mm?" she hummed, continuing to list into him. 

"Don't stop," he begged, the oscillation of her hips, the slow pull and drag like the ocean as high tide washed inward. The leather of the seat squeaked as she gripped it, rhythmically sliding against him, faces touching as her own soft protests met his ringing ears. Walls trembling slightly, she tucked her face into his neck as she gasped, her voice erring into a quiet whimper as she crashed into him. The fluttering motion of her satiny insides made him stutter, grasp becoming tighter and more forceful as he was unable to keep himself from pushing back into her. 

The whine hitched in the back of her throat, hands finding his shoulders again as he lanced into her a few, sharp times. Nothing else mattered - not the looming shadow of the future, not even what might happen later that evening. No, he was lost entirely in the cool blue eyes of his wife, the most enchanting creature he’d ever crossed. Swaddled in his arms, moaning his name, and causing starbursts behind his eyes as an overwhelming tsunami washed over him. Clutching her, almost crushing her into his beskar heartplate, he held her as if she might fly away into the space just outside the cockpit, his nose pressed into the side of her face buried in the wheaten field of her hair. 

“Riduur,” she whispered, tucking into him, becoming a part of him as they sat in the seat still connected. “Ni ka’rta-” (My heart)

"Ni vercopa mhi liser yi'sa ibic ratiin," (I wish we could stay like this forever) he murmured into her hair. 

"Mhi liser olar," (we can here) her fingers listed up, touching the steel heart of his beskar. "Perfect moments don't last forever. Or else, how would we be able to look back and know it's perfect?"

He hummed in agreement, turning his eyes up toward the stars, the streaming oblivion that he'd lost himself in during his years as just a bounty hunter. His mask, his Creed, his way of life - none of it had been lost, but at the same time it'd become much more than he had ever could have imagined. 

* * *

* * *

Ciri had never thought it would feel like this, but she decided that it couldn't be more perfect. The private ceremony, the exchanging of words in the language and culture that had given them both everything. For Din, it had been a way of life and guidance from when he was a boy. For Ciri, a way of life that helped her grow upon her experiences and the memories she had repressed. A warrior's way of life. 

Listening to the rise and fall of his chest, the beskar didn't bite like it used to. Her fingertips were desensitized from the countless hours bent over the forge, feeling the ghost heat of the hearth rather than the ice of the steel. A soft hum in the back of her throat, a song with no words, a song of the beskar that she had learned when listening to the stories of the spirits. Ominous, ethereal, but swaying like a ship on ocean waves, flowing, pushing and pulling. Her original anxiety to share her voice washed away with the salt and brine, the importance of the songs worth more than her own nerves. 

They needed to be heard, to be repeated, and passed down so they were not lost to time again. Given how much Mandalore had lost, Ciri wasn't willing to let her own knowledge slip between her fingers. 

"Was that from earth?" 

"No, it's Mandalorian," she told him.

"I've... never heard it."

"I think there are few who have," her voice was sad when she said that, considering her conversation with Cara. People in this galaxy were so willing to destroy and erase, with no regard to keeping the histories of what they obliterated. Alderaan was preserved in its survivors, but who knew amongst the survivors, how many actually had in depth information about their home world. 

"Will you teach me about the songs you know? The history behind them-" she lifted her head to gaze at him again, feeling a shiver travel down her spine as she observed the lines of his face. Upon gazing at Din Djarin for the first time, she'd been absolutely taken aback by the immediate similarities between him and an earthling. Well, she'd never met said earthling, but he looked a lot like a man she'd quoted over a year ago.

Obviously, they weren't the same person, but she'd hesitated when gazing at him, making him nervous. Warm brown eyes to match his messy, helmet curls, a strong jawline - which she had seen before when he lifted his helmet enough to drink. He had a curve to his nose, eyes deep set beneath chestnut brows. His face was peppered by the neglect of caring to shave, a scraggly beard along his jaw, hiking into his sideburns, and a mustache across a thin upper lip which she'd already been familiar with the feel of. A few wrinkles creased the edges of his eyes and above his brows, but they didn't detract from the handsomeness of her Mandalorian. 

The features she'd known - the brown locks, facial hair, the curve of his nose, where his cheekbones sat - finally arranged themself before her. Accustomed to being around such well manicured military men, there was something charming about the mess of his hair and the rough beard. 

"Of course," she assured him, continuing to stare at him, much to his chagrin. She couldn't help it, having wondered for so long what was beneath the helmet, though she respected his Creed. He had wanted this and in their union, he handed over the last few shards of his being to her. Reminded duly of the Tuskens, she knew that Din was a well traveled man who knew about many cultures and people. But she knew ancient Mandalorian, the hum of their war songs which could be sung in tandem with the hammering of beskar. 

Sitting in the chair with him, Ciri began to talk about the tales of the forgotten, shining a light on the wars they had waged, the creature they hunted, and the clans they raised. Animatedly recounting what she knew, she watched his face, the smiles she'd always heard but never seen making her heart flutter rapidly like a hummingbird. Ka'rta had been an accurate pet name for Din, because even now it ached at the sight of him. 

What she wasn't expecting as she talked about history was for Din to begin talking about himself. He had promised that he would, but Ciri was willing to give him the time that he needed. Talking about the past, about terrible memories, about things you regretted doing - it wasn't easy. She never wanted him to feel as if she were pressuring him to give more than he was willing to part with. 

"I told you that I was adopted by Mandalorians. I was born on Aq Vetina, a small rural planet. Separatist battle droids attacked during the Fall of the Republic. They weren't there to simply conquer, they were there for a slaughter. I was six years old; my parents were running amidst the carnage and blasterfire. I could see people I knew, my neighbors, acquaintances, friends being shot as we ran. I was lowered down into a storage hatch before seeing the crimson glow of the droid's eye. I should have died, but the Death Watch descended from the sky and ended the assault. 

"I was taken by the warrior and raised amongst the Fighting Corp. When I came of age, I was on Nevarro amongst the Tribe. There, I swore my Creed and to never remove my helmet in front of anything living. 

"I sought work where I could find it. Starting off as a Guild amateur, but a better prospect approached me in the form of Ranzar Malk. Back then, he fought alongside us with Xi'an and Qin; Mayfeld, Burg and Zero hadn't been amongst their ranks at that time-" he let out a low sigh, turning his eyes across the cockpit as this seemed a more difficult subject to broach. "I'm not proud of my time there. The only Code that they had was to not ask questions about the job, be that what happened to the other mercenaries on the mission as long as the job was completed. As you might have suspected, Xi'an and I... had somewhat of a relationship.

"Most of it revolved around her own sadism. Xi'an was good at extracting information from targets and invited me to help. I began enjoying it because I thought that many of them deserved what they were getting. The-" he cleared his throat, blinking a few times. "-sadism evolved. As you might have realized-" his voice dropped, his face flushing as he admitted this. "-and I thought it was really the only way to get pleasure. It was the first pleasure I knew and it was cruel and twisted.

"On Alzoc III we were tasked with being an insurgent group. Collect information and then kill them after we extracted what we needed. Again, no questions asked - it was a job. Xi'an and I were the ones who extracted the information, we'd become... good at it. The third person we apprehended was a young woman. Until this point, my assumption was that the targets were a part of a rebellion on Alzoc III intending to overthrow what appeared to be a benevolent government that was unwilling to get their hands dirty - so they'd paid us. Little did I know, was that the government on Alzoc III was anything but good to its people and these rebels were fighting against indoctrination of their religion, assimilation into the Empire, and maltreatment of those who refused to bend to the will of the government.

"When I found out... I couldn't continue. I could only see the woman in front of me as a Mandalorian trying to resist the Empire. She was fighting for her home and here I was, cutting her and-" he bit his lip, eyes shutting as he shuddered slightly, fingers tightening around her. "And the others didn't care. A job was a job to them, whether or not it was right or wrong. So I set the woman free and gave her the drop information for our next operation. I was stupid enough to think that because I'd freed her that she might trust me when I helped her escape, but she led me right into a trap. I can't say I was undeserving of that after what I'd done to her fellow rebels before that. Malk's group rescued me, utterly unaware that I had betrayed them in the first place. Despite their help, my feelings toward them hadn't changed much. 

"I didn't intend on reintegrating myself with them and stole their starship. Qin ended up being captured as they attempted to carve their way out. I was... mid twenties back then. After that I settled back with the Guild rather than reached out to mercenary groups. At least the Guild, I had a better idea what I was doing with each bounty. Until I had the bounty for you and the kid," Din surmised, glancing down toward her, trying to gauge her reaction.

"How old does that make you now?"

His brows creased in confusion. "That's... all you took from that?"

"Din, the man you were is not the same as the man you are now. I am happy that you felt you could share that with me, but it does not change my opinion on you or what I feel. I know you'd never hurt me and I know you're more empathetic than you prefer to let on," she considered their experiences for a moment. "The Tusken Raiders for example - Vanth hated them. That much was obvious. In spite of that, you knew that language and they treated you with respect. For such 'awful' beings, they were courteous and didn't shoot us on sight. You'd have me believe that someone, such as yourself, that took the time to learn their language and culture, is unrefined and indifferent toward life? If you were, you would've just shot Cobb Vanth and taken the beskar'gam. If you were, you wouldn't have come back for Grogu and I."

His pursed lips curved slightly in a smile as he leaned his head back against the seat. "38? I think. I stopped counting."

"Old man," she giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The slight difference in age didn't bother her, it was less than 10 years and after 21, it didn't matter. They'd known each other as adults. Ironically, she thought of her 19 year old self liking the Navy SEAL who was the oldest amongst the bunch, wondering if she was just naturally attracted to men who were older than her. 

_You didn't know how old Din was,_ she reminded herself silently, having not been able to see his face until this point. 

"You don't talk much about your own culture... before you became Mandalorian," Din pointed out.

"Oh, well America is mostly a melting pot of cultures. The country isn't that old and people from all walks of life, places, and cultures immigrated there. The only family I know for certain that lived in another country were my cousins on my paternal side - they were from Norway."

"Did you go to Norway?"

"A few times when I was young," Ciri nodded. "Krownest is a lot like Norway. Mountains, snow... well, Norway has a very strong culture revolving around the seafarers. Ancient Norwegians were conquerers, they left their homeland to invade other kingdoms - they were called Vikings. The English were terrified of them, citing that they stood twice as tall as normal men, that they were barbarians imbued by the devil-"

"Were they?"

Ciri laughed, shaking her head. "Maybe they were a little taller, but they were still human... but their own culture - while very bloody - is somewhat similar to Mandalorian culture. They love music too."

"You say 'they', but aren't you also descended from them?" Din pointed out. 

"I certainly share a lot of their features. Pale blonde hair, blue eyes, facial structure," she touched her own nose, thinking of the set of her eyes and how she'd taken after her father in appearance. "But the Viking culture I describe was long before my time. Hundreds of years. The culture they developed is far removed from civilization now."

"Tell me more about it," Din requested.

Ciri started with Valhalla, the pagan Gods that the warring, battle oriented culture prayed to. She told him of the elves, faeries, and dwarves - similar to those in Lord of the Rings - and the original inspiration for Tolkein's work. Moving on to talk about their conquest of the west, crossing the ocean to try and take what would become Britain and their success in taking Scotland, before shaping the United Kingdoms into the present day. Retouching on their oral traditions, she mentioned how history was passed by word of mouth. While vikings did use runes, they did not write. Not even their own music, which took the form of war songs, hymns, and fiddle tunes. The hardingfele had been a fixation of hers, the beautiful lilt of the Norwegian fiddle that her cousin Astrid had played when she visited Norway at 10 years old. 

"I always wished I learned how to play, but because it's such a traditional instrument..." she let out a wistful sigh. "You don't find those in America. Not unless you're from Norway and learned from another fiddler. There are... extra strings, unlike a normal violin, which resonate and create overtones. And the beat isn't straight. While it's in 3 like a waltz, the length of the beats depend on the song."

"I'm not a musician, so if you could humor my ignorance-"

Ciri laughed. "I'm not either," she blushed, but realized she had more musical knowledge than him. She'd taken chorus in school, taken piano lessons as a child, knew how to sing, and could talk about notes on the page because she could read them. "It's still something I wish I spent more time with. But... music written with measures - phrases that last a certain amount of beats. So when you listen to a song, you can feel the beat like your heart. For example-" she cleared her throat and began humming Drops of Jupiter, tapping her chest to the beat of the music. "If I subdivide, it's a quick 4 beats per measure. I believe it's written in cut time, but-"

"You've lost me," Din grinned. "I think I'll leave the musical knowledge to you."

"I'm not a musician. I just know the basics," she groused. 

"Seems like there's a lot to cover in just the basics."

"The same could be said about weapons," she remarked lightly. "There's just so much... to know, y'know? Despite all I know, I feel sort of out of depth all the time. What good does my knowledge of musical basics or of earthen history do me here?"

"Knowledge shapes a person. People who know a lot are better at learning. Those that don't look to expand their knowledge limit themselves," Din muttered. "I think your knowledge has helped you more than you realize."

"I've once heard it phrased that the mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be kindled," Ciri said quietly, screwing her brows together as she contemplated the depth of those words. 

"Sounds like there were a lot of wise men on earth."

"No more than in this galaxy. We were just good at record keeping... even so, imagine how much was omitted because they lost the battle or is skewed toward one side," she speculated, opening yet another pandora's box. "I'm rambling a bit now, aren't I?"

"I don't mind. I like hearing about all the things you know. Hard to believe so much information is stored up in your head," Din smiled gently. 

"I just liked to read," she muttered. "It was a way to escape from reality, imagining myself somewhere else, as someone else-" that actually made her laugh as she sat up slightly. "Now look where I am. Not exactly what I imagined when I had my nose between books, but I wouldn't trade it for any of the stories I did read."

"There's not one book you read that you might have been interested in experiencing?"

"Considering?" she snorted. "There was one series I really enjoyed, but women were at a severe disadvantage there. Considered little more than cattle to be pawned off for marriage to bring honor to the family. Didn't allow females to fight... While the story was good, I don't think I would have been up to try a hand at the tyrade of political games, worrying about someone stabbing you in the back, where doing the right thing was rewarded with getting your head chopped off... No, I think I'm all set with that... Are there any stories that you wished you could have experienced?"

"I never spent much time reading for enjoyment," Din admitted. "The first stories I've really listened to are the ones you've shared. Otherwise, reading has been to learn how to do things."

"What?!" Ciri gasped. "You'd have me believe that your Tribe didn't tell stories?"

"Share experiences? Yes. But not fiction or myths like you describe."

"Dear lord, you poor, poor man. No wonder I thought you had the emotional range of a tablespoon when I first met you," she laughed, pressing an affectionate kiss to the side of his cheek. "I know that's not true now, but stories are so important. Especially since they teach us so many lessons in life."

Din frowned slightly, a flush of color playing across his cheeks at her jab. "Well, if you're so knowledgeable, then perhaps you should share more with me."

"I've already told you so much today! Let what I've shared sink in first, rid'ika," she mused.

"Don't call me that," he complained. 

"Rid'ika?" she repeated, a grin spreading across her features. The 'ika was typically only used for children and behind closed doors. Using such a title in front of other Mandalorians was inappropriate, even for your own children. Often, it meant 'little' but could also imply extreme affection, but in a more 'adorable' manner. Combining it with riduur insinuated an air of cuteness that would be more applicable for a wife than a husband. Ciri knew this when she said it.

"Stop it," he grumbled. "Ka'rta is fine, but not that."

"Ka'ika," she taunted.

"Ciri," he insisted more firmly this time. "That doesn't even work."

"I can't call you that?" she pouted. "Rid'ika?"

"No," he affirmed. "You're such a brat."

"That's not very nice to say to your wife."

He let out a perplexed huff, but despite his posturing, she could see the warmth in his brown eyes as he tried to stop himself from smiling. 

Their peace was shattered.

Red lights began flashing, consuming the purity of the starlight cast over them, engulfing their bodies in a crimson, bloody flood. Din sat up, jerking her slightly from where they had been lounging, her legs having been stretched over the armrest as she laid in his lap. Brows furrowing, he leaned over her to assess the controls. Cocking her own head, she took immediate notice that there was an issue with the left engine. Now out of hyperspace, the ship listed forward as the sirens continued to scream.

"The Crest was just fixed," Ciri said, utterly perplexed, given that the ship had appeared to have gotten all of the repairs it had so desperately needed. Karga didn't strike her as the type to slight them in that manner, not when he so desperately wanted them to return as a bounty hunting team. 

"We need to land," he announced, a frown curving his lips down as he considered the blaring engines, flipping switches to try and levy some of the power to the right in order to keep the left from overheating. 

"Where are we closest to?" she sat up completely, hunching over the controls with him. 

"Corvus," he assessed after a moment.

The Force hummed in the back of her throat, making her swallow hard. "Good," she whispered.

"Good? Have you been there before?" he glanced down at her. 

"I... have a good feeling about Corvus. I don't know why."

"A good feeling? That's new," Din snorted softly in her ear. 

"A good feeling about Corvus, but a bad feeling about whatever reason we're in need of repairs," Ciri corrected, glancing at the dash as she tried to rationalize what happened. "You don't think that there could still be undercover Imps in Nevarro, do you?"

Din stiffened behind her at the insinuation. "I-" he paused, contemplating his words before continuing. Gideon was alive and that outpost had more soldiers in it than they were originally anticipating. "There might be."

"We'll need to check the ship for a tracking beacon when we land," Ciri decided. "There's no other reason that we should be having problems other than that we were sabotaged. I don't think Dune or Karga would have done that."

"Me either," he agreed softly. 

* * *

**Author Break.**

The songs of the beskar/Mandalore are inspired by the Viking singing group Skáld. Their music is absolutely beautiful, so if you have the chance to listen to it, do it! Specifically the tune I'm trying to depict in this chapter is 

SKÁLD - Níu: also a [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9J327BoDgGY) if you'd like to listen to it. 

Because a lot of their songs have drums to them, as they're chants, they fit well in between the hammering of a smith.

Ciri's 'wedding' dress is similar to her blue petaled dress - [link here](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/df/36/d7/df36d7c7258b77c575b30938196fcc0b.jpg)


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Blairn and Vizsla chapter. Get ready for some feels.

_"Renewed shall be blade that was broken."_

* * *

"I already told you everything I knew!" the Duros screeched, strung up in the basement of the Mandalorian base established on Concord Dawn. The cellar was dark, musky, only lit by a lantern in the corner. The lamp wasn't for Paz, he could see perfectly fine through the visor of his helmet. No, it was for Zanzon Lus to be able to just barely see what was about to happen to him as he picked up another tool. "What is that? What is that!?" he shrieked, crimson eyes stretching wide, damp from tears, his skin appearing ashy in the darkness.

But he hadn't said everything he knew and Paz was aware of this. Being sadistic, Lus was able to hold onto his wit longer than most. There was no satisfaction in this work. Paz actually found it disgusting, wincing behind his helmet to get what he wanted. Mandalore was more important than one awful, Duros trafficker. The only thing that made the Vizsla continue was the fact that he was paying Lus his just desserts. He deserved much more than this, the hundreds of people he'd captured and sold, to include a few Mandalorians. 

"Vizsla," he jerked his head up, staring at his gloves from where he sat at the table, his blaster disassembled in front of him as Blairn gave him a narrow look through doe brown eyes. She set her helmet on the table, sitting across from him and kicking her feet up on an unoccupied chair. "I traced the lead from Lus."

"What did you get?"

"Kashyyyk," she revealed, glancing at her gloves and picking a frayed string. 

The wookiee planet. Paz stifled a sigh, wondering how in kriff they were going to manage navigating that jungle. If anyone could hide amongst a planet, it would be that death trap filled with mile high vegetation. "Where on Kashyyyk?"

"Amongst the Shadowlands. I don't have exact coordinates, just a generalized area that we'll have to patrol," Blairn revealed, glancing up from her hands. "Fortunately, I know someone who lives on Kashyyyk who is willing to help us."

"You know a Wookiee?" he didn't know why he was surprised.

"Yup," she retorted simply.

"Who?" he had to ask since she didn't seem as if she wanted to give everything away.

"Was a smuggler before, turned to the New Republic. His name is Chewbacca. I wasn't great friends with him, I used to butt heads with his partner a lot... Anyways, he's willing to help us find any Mandalorians who might be trapped on Kashyyyk. He's been trying to clean his homeworld up, but given the landscape it's been difficult and the Wookiees are still hurting from the war. In exchange for getting rid of some less... savory types, he's willing to act as a guide and to also vouch for us amongst his people."

"What kind of favor are we talking about?" Paz inquired, deciding not to dart around the subject. Chewbacca might be willing to help them, but nothing was free. 

"Slaver activity. Which might be tied to our own lead. I guess since Wookiees are so long lived and strong, there's interest in putting them in chains as workers," Blairn revealed.

"If this Chewbacca has ties to the New Republic, why isn't he asking them for help?"

"I thought the same," she sat up now, putting her feet down. "Especially since his old business partner is literally married to one of the most important people in the galaxy... He told me that they have issues of their own that they're dealing with. Wouldn't say much more than that, which leads me to believe that the Imps we're dealing with are just a part of something bigger."

Considering their plight, Paz wondered how many they'd need to take to help the Wookiees regain control of their planet. They'd had a bit of calm for a couple of weeks, which disturbed him. The Empire was building up to something and he couldn't risk leaving a skeleton crew on Concord Dawn. "How severe is the issue?"

"Enough that Chewbacca is willing to accept outside help from Mandalorians. Wasn't too pleased when I told him, since he had quite the - um... _exchange_ with a bounty hunter called Boba Fett a few years back. But I doubt he'd feel comfortable with more than a few of us going out there... And I'll have to go."

"Why?" Paz wasn't keen on letting her back out of the base. Not only because he trusted her judgement to keep an eye on everyone, but also due in part to how the last mission had gone. He still felt guilty that he'd forced her into that situation. Since that mission, he'd addressed the team as a whole and informed them that the behavior displayed prior to that moment was inappropriate and made a tense atmosphere between the males and females for no good reason. 

He had been careful in the way he phrased it, but Mera and Blairn had been assigned postings befitting of their expertise. They'd been to war, they knew what they might face in the future. 

"Can you speak Shyriiwook?"

He could not. "You can?"

"I can do a lot of things," Blairn gave him an impudent look. "Including speaking Shyriiwook. I had to know a good amount of languages during my smuggling years. Was better to not be ill prepared. Honestly, it's easier to understand than speak, but Chewbacca understands Basic, so hopefully I'll not have to speak it much. Hurts the back of your throat-" she tapped the neck of her kute to make a point. 

"How many other languages can you speak?"

"Huttense, droidspeak, Jawaese, Rodian, and obviously Mando'a. Basically, anything that would help me on my routes," Blairn revealed. He wasn't entirely surprised, seeing as the woman was incredibly intelligent, but he'd not cared to ask before. With the increasing issues cropping up around the galaxy, not limited to just the Mandalore system, he was beginning to realize that Blairn's expertise was going to be more heavily utilized.

"The both of us will go. I'll leave Mera in control of the operations," Paz decided. 

"I'll prepare the Cabur. What time do you want to depart? I'll send Chewbacca a transmission with an ETA," Blairn offered, picking her helmet back up as she anticipated getting ready for departure.

"Immediately. I'll notify Mera. How long will it take before we're ready?"

"Give me an hour and we'll be set for take off," Blairn requested. 

"Done," he agreed, beginning to put the pieces of his blaster back together as the female mando got up and went off to acquiesce supplies and get her freighter squared away. Clicking the blaster's sliding handle, he returned it to his holster and pushed up to his feet. For the jungle planet, he'd need to be certain that he had the proper arsenal, including extra paracord and spikes for his boots. The trees were known for being kilometers high and his jetpack might be too difficult to maneuver in some of the more heavily verdant areas.

After packing a bag of extra supplies, Paz found Mera in the hangar fiddling with a broken down speeder. The man sat up, rubbing his forehead and arching a brow. "Heading out?"

"Yes, with Blairn. We're going to Kashyyyk to trace the lead from Lus. The Wookiees are willing to help us through the Shadowlands if we help flush out slavers."

"Just Blairn?" Mera gleaned, disdainful of this idea.

"They don't trust us," Vizsla informed him. "And she's the only one here who speaks their language."

"Hm..." Mera scowled, but gave a slow nod of acknowledgement, not betraying any more knowledge on the subject.

"Things have been too quiet here. I'm not keen on leaving, but we can't wait too long on the information extracted from Lus," it was a timebomb. Who knew if their lead was still amongst the Shadowlands or if it had moved on. Paz wasn't willing to wait, especially if those carbonite slabs had Mandalorians in them. 

"I can handle everything here," Mera assured him, wiping greasy hands off on a rag. 

"It's been quiet," Paz pointed out duly. 

Mera gave a grim nod. "We can hope their interest has turned elsewhere, but we'll not be so foolish to assume that it's stopped completely. They could be preparing for something," the seasoned veteran agreed, catching his drift. "I'll be able to handle everything in your absence. Has more word come in from the Smith?"

Paz shook his head. "Not since we recovered the starfighter on Tatooine. Apparently, she's back with her clan, but perhaps they've run into more issues than anticipated. If anything, she'll check back in here." While he was glad that Kih had found her clan, he was displeased by her lack of communication since. The galaxy wasn't incredibly kind toward Mandalorians and it was possible they had to bunker down for a bit... Or the Empire had caught back up with her. Either way, all they could do was wait until more information was passed back over to them. The mando she was with was adept at his trade and Paz put his faith in the man's skill.

Leaving Mera to his work, he approached the Cabur, which was a sleek, torpedo-shaped freighter laced with stripes of blue. The ship hummed and he entered the lowered dock into the hangar deck which was mostly empty. They hadn't been making active use of the Cabur, due to how identifiable it was amongst the Outer Rim. Even with the new paint and the renaming of the ship in Mando'a, it might attract unnecessary attention. However, Paz could tell that Blairn was itching to be back in the comfort of her own ship. Entering through the cardo area, he dropped his bag off in one of the crew bunks before approaching the cockpit. 

Blairn didn't glance back, inputting nav controls as he sat in the co-pilot's seat. The leather squeaked underneath him, almost as if it'd never been used before. He had been inside the Cabur, but not for a flight. For a smuggler's ship, it was relatively nicer than he was expecting. 

"Well, don't chat my ear off," Blairn commented, opening the hangar doors, revealing the sky above them. The Cabur hovered before ascending up and looming over the golden fields of Concord Dawn. Compared to some of the other flying he had to endure, Blairn moved precisely and the ship thrummed under the guidance of an expert pilot, listing up and barely moving him about. 

"How did you get the Cabur?" Paz wondered finally just as they were leaving the atmosphere.

"I bought it," Blairn answered simply. 

"This seems... a bit nice for a smuggler."

"I ferried spice. How much do you think I made?" Blairn chuckled.

He didn't know the rates at which spice could be traded for nor how much a smuggler could make. "Couldn't wager a guess," he admitted after a long moment.

"Let's just say I didn't want for much," Blairn told him, tapping the dash of her ship fondly. "Also mostly because I lived like a womp rat and didn't care much for new clothes or jewelry. I saved up for a few years before getting the Cabur... And ate lots of rations. Lots and lots of piss awful rations just to get this ship."

Paz breathed a laugh in spite of himself, imagining the pilot hoarding credits and eating nothing but rations. "Doesn't seem much has changed then-"

Blairn scowled at his jab. "Oh, thanks," she drawled sarcastically. "Maybe I should have just stayed under my rock... Might've if you hadn't dragged me kicking and screaming out of a hutt den."

The memory brought a smile to Paz's lips beneath his helmet. After departing Nevarro, he'd set his mind to finding other Mandalorians. Blairn hadn't been the first, it had actually been Mera, who knew where to find her. Acting as a bounty hunter, he had gained entrance to a den on Coruscant where the female mando was taking a job and arguing with her to-be patron about the cost. No one had wanted to interfere, more than glad to get the screeching shriek-hawk out of the room since she wasn't bending to the price they wanted to pay, demanding that she'd be given more.

Out in the alleys, he thought Blairn was going to fight him tooth and claw until she'd asked him what he really wanted, putting an end to her fight entirely once they were out of sight and mind. She knew no mandos were hunting her and was displeased that Mera had made her. Perhaps back then, Paz should have realized that she was smarter than he gave her credit for, but he'd let the mission distract him. Blairn quickly fell into step and took up arms as the engineer for the team, locating a throng of younger mandos that he thought she personally knew. He'd been wrong about that too. She'd found them, she didn't actually know any of them, as they'd all been too young to fight in the Great Purge.

"You put on a good show," he shrugged.

"Didn't know what you were actually there for. As far as anyone knew in there, I'm from Corellia. Last thing I needed to do was embrace you like an old friend and begin chatting you up in Mando'a," she paused. Now they were out of orbit and she was able to engage the hyperdrive. "I wasn't certain if I was going to join you or not."

That revelation surprised him, keeping him quiet as he waited for her to continue. 

"Honestly, after all I've seen, I'm still not too keen on what's going on. All the kids back there... They're thinking of the honor they can win, the legacy they'll create if we win back Mandalore, and the way the people will cry their names as heroes. They don't know that most of the Mandalorians in the cities hate us. That they'd rather we fade into nothing and they'll continue trying to survive on the desecrated bones of our home world. They don't know that we're fighting an uphill battle that not all of us are gonna see the summit of. I see that hope - the same kind like a decade ago - and know where that leads. The Empire might not be full strength, but we both know what they can do.

"And I'm not too certain if I'm ready to take that ride again," Blairn confessed, sitting back on her seat to run her gloves through her short hair. "Not as if I have as much to lose, which is probably why I did come on the team. No clan, no family, no kids. I feel dar'manda."

Those words made Paz sit up, staring over at Blairn as she stared blankly out the glass toward the streaks of starlight. Dar'manda was a state of not being Mandalorian, to feel as if they'd lost their heritage, soul, and identity. Hearing Blairn say that was incredibly distressing. 

"Why do you think that?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm as the pilot refused to look at him. 

"I've never been... the best Mandalorian. Never really felt like I'm part of the team, even before now. My mother died when I was just a kid, so my dad raised me. He was dar'manda after she passed. Maybe I've got a bit of his cynicism in me, which was magnified by how the Purge went-" she barked a harsh laugh. "Y'know, despite the fact that everyone ridicules the Children of the Watch, at least you've got your Creed."

"I didn't always have the Creed," Paz told her, still staring toward the female as she set her head back against her seat. "I took it after the Great Purge."

"Still more than I've got," Blairn shrugged indifferently. 

"Then what are you fighting for?" Paz asked.

"The Resol'nare, I suppose."

"If you're dar'manda, why would you care about the Resol'nare?" he challenged.

Blairn didn't have an answer for that, remaining disturbingly quiet. "I don't know," her voice was very quiet, almost too difficult to hear. "H-hey," she sat up abruptly, clearing her throat. "We're gonna be in hyperspace for three days. I'm gonna go get some sleep. The Cabur is pretty easy to navigate, but if you need anything, just let me know."

The pilot departed from the cockpit, leaving Paz to sit there somewhat gobsmacked by the proclamation from her. His own dedication to being Mandalorian was absolutely polar when compared to her, looking to vindicate his clan rather than feel dar'manda for what his uncle had done. Amongst the Tribe, there had been no question about their resolve or faith. He'd not been faced by a Mandalorian coming to grips with their heritage after losing so much since the war. Many others had put their beskar'gam away, never intending to take it out after their defeat. He sensed that in Blairn, the same hopelessness, but wondered why she had returned if the armor didn't feel like it fit. 

He hadn't done anything to make her feel like a Mandalorian. In fact, until recently, he'd only estranged her more from the rest of them. Had he known, he might've hoped that she would be a bit more comfortable as she headed some of the operations, but after her honest words, he realized the wounds were much deeper. To feel dar'manda... He worried. Worried that this monster in the pilot would only grow until it swallowed her whole.

The next few days didn't get much better. Blairn kept to her quarters for the most part until it was nearly time to land, not giving him the chance to try and get a word in. Finally, just as they dropped from hyperspace, he found her in the cockpit. 

"Blairn-" he started, having had a few days to consider her words. She'd never been one to overshare, though she had no qualms about being brutally honest. She'd always answered his questions when he asked, but again, he'd never thought to pry. 

She glanced back, her brown eyes surrounded by dark circles as if she hadn't slept at all. "What?" she asked tartly, rubbing her face before grumbling. He noticed then that she did not have her beskar'gam on and was in a pair of trousers, boots, and bomber jacket. 

"Where's your armor?" That wasn't the question he was going to ask, but it came out anyways.

"I don't deserve to wear it," she turned back around and started to radio the spaceport. Immediately, they were harried by the growls, snarls, and howls of Shyriiwook. Pressing the button on the com system, she began to answer back in the guttural language. "Prepare for landing. We've been cleared to dock," she told him in Basic. 

Paz sat down awkwardly in the co-pilot seat as they neared the lush green planet. His eyes slid back over toward Blairn who was wearing dual blaster pistols. While he didn't think it was wise to wear beskar'gam if it didn't feel right, he also was not keen on fighting slavers and having to worry about his partner getting hurt. He wondered if Mera had an idea that Blairn wasn't in the best mental state, which was why he was a little finicky on the idea of sending her out to Kashyyyk. 

The canopies of the trees came into view first, a lush field of leaves coating the surface in place of the ground. Nestling between a break in them, they landed on a hangar platform, where wookiees paced around anxiously outside to greet them. With a gentle sigh, Blairn sat back.

"Follow my lead on this and don't offend them. Wookiees are very prideful... and sore losers. Even that beskar won't save you if one of them gets pissed enough to tear an arm off," Blairn warned, standing up and sliding past him without another word. 

He followed her, watching as she pulled her hair back in a short ponytail and lowered the dock. A pair of wookiees were waiting for them, one who was impressively tall and the other who appeared to be a bit younger. The older glanced toward Blairn, recognition clear in his dark eyes as he barked a greeting at her. 

"Nice to see you again too, Chewie," she greeted, glancing down toward the other. "Is this your son Lumpawaroo?"

Chewbacca nodded, his son saying something as well, before gesturing over at Paz. 

"That's-"

"We're partners," Paz interrupted before she could tell the wookiee that he was her commander. At the moment, that title didn't feel right or deserved. "Paz Vizsla."

Blairn gave him a sideways glance, but didn't harp on his word choice, her arms crossed as she gazed back at their contact. Before she could speak again, the both of them were assaulted with a plethora of information from Chewbacca. Paz had no idea what was being said, tilting his visor toward Blairn, whose shoulders began to relax and the tight expression lifted. 

Rather than speak to him in Basic, she answered him back in his native tongue, the wookiee giving a slight nod of his head. "Chewie's invited us over to his home for a proper meal and to discuss what is going on around here. He'd like for us to meet his wife."

"Is this... custom?" Paz inquired.

"Yes, wookiees are very gracious hosts. You will offend him if you decline," Blairn answered evenly. 

Chewbacca stepped forward, looming over the both of them before patting Blairn fondly on the shoulder. Despite the fact that she'd claimed they hadn't been friends, the wookiee was considerably nicer than Paz expected. "Very well. We are gracious of Chewbacca's courtesy."

Chewie gave a nod of acknowledgement before motioning for them to follow. Lumpawaroo gave a curious glance before flanking his father, hailing his much larger counterpart with quiet questions. 

Amongst the upper boughs of the trees, an entire city was built upon the massive branches, linked by various bridges. There were few humans amongst the giant wookiees, milling about through their mundane daily lives. A few eyes traced him, anxiously glancing toward the beskar and the insinuation that followed. However, many people paid heed to their guide, giving polite nods and waves. Chewbacca seemed to be mighty important around the city. 

Homes were nestled like bird's nests in the trees, a wide open mouth of a door inviting them into the wookiee's house. The main den was surprisingly inviting and warm, a female wookiee glancing up from the counter as she wiped her massive paws on her smock. She spoke to her husband quickly and then offered a toothy smile toward the guests. Food was already laden on the tables. They had been expected. 

Paz grabbed Blairn by the arm, pulling her aside. "How well do you know them?" he asked quietly. 

"I-" she rubbed her eyes. "Ok, I might not have been entirely honest with you."

Paz glowered through his visor. 

"I worked a few jobs with Solo and Chewie back in the day for the Hutts. I didn't lie about not getting along with Solo. However, Chewie... I made a run here to Kashyyyk for him once and met Malla. She needed help, so I did what I could as a favor to him. So I know the entire family-"

"Cuyir ibac tion'jor kaysh ru'aalar yaim'la tionir par shol'shya riye?" (Is that why he felt comfortable asking for another favor?) Paz's temper was beginning to creep into his voice. "Bal tion'jor gar copaanir bat olaror?" (And why you insisted on coming?)

"Ret," (maybe) she grumbled, glaring at the floor as she tried to pull her arm out of his grip. "Meg wer'bic cuy? Vi linibar val Gaa'tayl." (Why does it matter? We need their help.)

"Gar jahaatir at ni." (You lied to me)

"Ni nayc jehaat. Ni shi nayc rejorhaa'ir te haihi'l haat," (I did not lie. I just did not tell you the whole truth) she retorted, finally snatching her arm away. There was a wild look in her eyes, a shadow falling over them as Chewbacca glanced down, trying to discern what was going on. 

"Dar'manda-" he snarled before he could stop himself, but the fact that she had obscured facts from him, the woman he’d assigned to be one of his commanders… 

She didn't flinch, just staring at him blankly as he called her that. Such a hollow look on her face as the word registered but did not affect her. Chewbacca spoke again and she turned up, waving him off gently. "It's fine Chewie. Let's have dinner..." she broke off into the guttural language, gesturing toward Paz. Eventually, she glanced back at him. "I told them that you cannot eat with us. Chewie says there's a room to the side you can use."

She left him behind, sitting beside the wookiee's son, talking to him gently in Shyriiwook. Paz just stared, heart pounding as he tried to rationalize what was happening. The female mando he'd selected as one of his wings was failing him. She'd purposely not told him everything about her contact and her reactions were delayed. He was absolutely livid, taking his food to the adjoining room, ripping his helmet off as he sat with his back against the door. But as he sat there, the careful attention their hosts had paid to their arrival, and the forlorn expression on the woman's face - Paz felt his fury subside. 

Mandalore had suffered enough casualties and it seemed that the war was about to claim another. Even if the food smelled good, Paz had no appetite, watching yet another comrade slip between his fingers. He'd sworn to never let another die, to never leave a Mandalorian behind, and to do everything in his power to preserve their legacy. So why did it feel impossible now? 

* * *

* * *

" _It's been a wild ride_ ," Kita admitted to Chewie almost dolefully, a tight smile gracing her features as she let a sigh pass her lips. It felt nice to be around the wookiee family again, a lot nicer than being around her own people. She didn't know why. She shouldn't feel like that, but she did.

" _Your friend was upset_ ," Chewie commented, glancing toward the door that Paz was behind. " _He was speaking to you in Mando'a so we could not understand_."

" _Yeah, it's fine_ ," she shrugged nonchalantly.

Chewbacca clearly didn't believe her as he let out a low, trilling huff. " _Why are you helping them?_ "

" _It's my home world._ "

" _That's not a good reason_ ," Chewie pointed out.

It wasn't, but she didn't know what else to do, where else to go. Her life had been a series of twists and turns with no end. And the one time she felt like she had an idea of what might happen, even that was snatched from her. " _How have you been Malla? The little tyke is growing up here. He's almost as tall as me_ -" she shifted the subject, forcing a smile at the female wookiee. Ruffling Waroo's fur, the kid groused at her, but in good nature. " _What, you were like 2 feet tall last time I saw you_."

" _Can you show me the Cabur later?_ " Waroo asked eagerly.

" _Ehhh, maybe if it's ok with your dad_."

" _He's still in trouble for going down to the Shadowlands to collect wasaka berries,_ " Malla informed her, glaring at her son.

" _Uh oh. How long's he in trouble for, 20 years?_ " she joked, earning a shy laugh from the kid. 

They chatted over dinner, Kita forgetting about the heaviness in her chest for just a brief while. It was nice to see them again, catch up with the youngster, smile earnestly for the first time in weeks, and enjoy the tasty food that Malla had made. Helping the female clean up the mess, she kept herself distracted a bit longer, before Chewie called her over. She spared a single glance in the direction of the room Paz had disappeared into, but decided not to dwell on it. 

Chewie led her into an office where an assembly of trophies and medals from the war sat. Kita froze, not because she felt paled by the amount that he'd gotten, but because of the New Republic sigil.

" _We thought you died_ ," Chewie said suddenly, opening a drawer. " _After the Battle of Endor, when we found out Orion has been shot down-_ "

She should have expected this, her fingers tightening against her leg as he spoke, but she did not interrupt.

" _When I heard that the Cabur was still flying... I hoped you had survived, but was surprised when you didn't let anyone know you were ok_ ," he had something in his paws, glancing down at her with sad eyes. " _I don't know how you managed it, but it doesn't matter. These belong to you rightfully. You were the only family Orion had._ "

" _I wasn't his family_ ," she protested weakly, the box being shoved into her hands. 

Chewie gave her a hard pressed look. " _Did he know you were Mandalorian?_ "

" _Yes_ ," she grumbled, glaring down at the thing she now held. 

" _I'm sorry. The war was hard on everyone, but you deserved better. You shouldn't be fighting another war you don't believe in,_ " Chewie told her. 

"I believed in the war against the Empire. Still do," she swapped back to Basic, her throat raw. "After all they've taken from me." Her eyes burned as she looked at the box, all that was left to signify her relationship. 

" _Maybe you should come back. To the New Republic that is... after you help this Paz Vizsla. You would be accepted with open arms, probably assigned as a squadron leader,_ " Chewie entreated gently, putting a hand on her shoulder, the long fur brushing her neck slightly. 

"Na," she muttered. "I promised Orion."

" _Orion is dead_."

" _Doesn't matter. A promise is a promise. You wookiees believe the same. I've got my own life debt to pay out_."

" _You're not a wookiee and he is dead. What was it that Orion made you promise?_ "

"To go home," she couldn't stop the tears this time, grinding her teeth as they leaked out. "Course he knew that was Mandalore. My damn luck is, I ignored the request and then another kriffing Mandalorian found me. So y'know, couldn't quite escape fate a second time. Went along with him cuz I figured some cruel God was punishing me for not doing what I'd promised."

Felt like yesterday, just like the Great Purge did - getting roped into helping the rebels - ended up donning one of their stupid orange, white, and blue uniforms. Funny thing was that the uniform fit better than her beskar ever did. And Kita had never intended in actually feeling accepted or having a good time with comrades. Or falling in love with another pilot. She'd told herself she'd try not to get too close to anyone because it was war and anyone on her squad could die. But life's funny like that. Hardships make it easier to bond and even Kita found friends amongst her fellow rebel starfighter pilots. Maybe she'd even seen them as a surrogate family in that desolate galaxy, abandoning them once the battle was over and Orion got shot in space over Endor. 

Chewbacca hugged her, the massive teddy bear offering the warmest embrace she'd felt in a long time. Kita lost it, bawling her eyes out like a baby in the wookiee's arms. She hadn't lied to Paz, but it was too difficult to put into words what had happened in the past five years. None of the other mandos knew she served as a rebel and she wanted to keep it that way. Otherwise, they'd ask her questions that she didn't want to answer. None of them had taken up the flag against the Empire and while it was one of the things Kita was proud to have done, it was also the source of a lot of misery and baggage. 

She'd come to Kashyyyk in the middle of the war, helping Malla and Waroo flee when the Empire tried to enslave the planet. That was the reason Chewie was such a good friend; she'd saved his family. She'd not wanted any payment for it, because it had been helping a fellow rebel out. But he still felt as if he owed her, but he had a life debt to Solo already. Once she'd gone dark and returned to the Outer Rim, she'd cut all her New Republic connections and pretended as if she'd not been one of their pilots. Wasn't anyone to beg different, since her comrades all got shiny medals and stayed amongst the ranks of the New Republic.

Orion had been her boyfriend. Another pilot in her squadron and the only person who knew she was Mandalorian. He'd only found out because they'd slept together and he'd seen her tattoos. Rather than lie about them, she told him that she had been a pilot for Mandalore during the Purge. It'd felt like the right thing to say, enjoying each other's company amidst the brief snatches of downtime they had. She knew he'd planned to propose to her after the war, once they were certain they'd see the end of the Empire together. He'd wanted to go to Mandalore.

" _They do not know_ ," it was a statement, not a question.

She shook her head at him. "No, they don't. I didn't want anyone asking questions, cuz... y'know."

" _I think I do,_ " Chewie set her back down as she sniffled. He helped her to the spare room where she sat on the large bed with the box on her lap. Leaving her to herself, she opened the box and sifted through what Chewie had saved her. 

Tears came again as she found the holo photos taken during the war. One was of her squadron, her fingers grazing the rebel uniform, a knot forming in her belly. Another was of her and Orion, his tumbles of dark curls falling across his forehead as he hooked an arm around her neck and grinned wildly. They were both still in uniform - they almost always were. Another was of a brief shore day on Hoth where she and her pals engaged in a snowball fight during one of the few moments of reprieve from the war. Below the pictures were various medals, her brows furrowing as she realized that they were assigned to her. 

Chewbacca had retrieved all her medals and stored them, her fingers sliding over the ribbons. The New Republic... She should have joined them. Maybe she'd be a lot happier now if she had that sort of regiment in her life. Another part of her didn't want to see the stupid uniform again, half expecting Orion to come around the corner in his own flight suit.

Kita cried over the box. What had she expected in coming here? Of course Chewie was going to try and convince her to come back.

Try and convince her. Right. Why did it feel like she actually wanted to go back? Hunched over her memories, looking at the fugly uniforms, missing the niche she had filled where she actually had felt appreciated. But she was helping Mandalore. She had duties to her own people, didn't she? Who was she kidding? Most of Mandalore wanted to be left alone and those that followed the Resol'nare were spread amongst the parsecs just looking for a way to desperately cling to life. Kita had been happier when she had put the beskar'gam away. 

Kita fell asleep curled up around the box, crying.

* * *

* * *

Their hosts were more hospitable than Paz was expecting and it was... a refreshing change. Most people were afraid of Mandalorians and treaded carefully. The wookiee family seemed not to care, even the little one Waroo was keenly intrigued by him when he came to find Malla preparing breakfast. Blairn was already up, her eyes puffy and swollen. It was obvious the woman had been crying and he wondered if it was because he'd called her dar'manda. Part of him doubted it, as she'd called herself that, but he still felt guilty for snapping it at her. Feeling that way... had to be difficult. He'd thought about it during his restless evening, wondering what might've brought on such dark thoughts in the female mando. He suspected it had to do more with this secret relationship she had with the wookiees. There was a piece of Kita Blairn's life that he didn't know about and it was very important.

"What? No way, I know what those are you twerp," Kita told Waroo, fussing the fur on top of his head as the child offered her a handful of berries. "I've been to Kashyyyk before. Obviously you were too little to remember. But I definitely know those are stinkberries."

Waroo let out a very convincing howl, shoving them back toward her. 

"No waaaaay," she insisted. "Eat one first and maybe I'll try it."

Waroo drew them back, considering it, before throwing the handful at Kita. His mother groused loudly, though Blairn only laughed, the smile on her face so warm that Paz froze because he'd never seen anything other than a few tight smiles on the woman's face. This was the first times in the months that he'd known her that he'd seen a genuine smile. Picking on berry up and sparing a glance at Chewie, Kita grabbed the kid, tackling him to the floor before forcing it into his mouth. The skirmish ended with Waroo dragging his paws over his tongue, making a retching noise, as Chewie boomed with what sounded like laughter.

Paz chortled quietly, amused, but also disquieted. Maybe it was because they had no foundlings on Concord Dawn, considering how dangerous it was, but this Kita was not the one he knew. Right in that moment as the woman bared a wolfish, victorious grin at the wookiee child, he knew in his heart that he wanted to know this side. Maybe he wanted more than just to know this side, his heart burning as he watched.

Chewbacca made a remark, the woman's head turning up toward him. "Ah, Chewie wants to go over some details with us before we set off for the day," she glanced in his direction, the remnants of a smile still there, but her eyes sobered , becoming cool and nonchalant again. 

Paz was disappointed that she looked at him like that. 

_You don't deserve to be looked at like that_ , he told himself silently, wincing at the thought of smoking Blairn after she'd let Kih go out to Tatooine. After he'd treated her coldly when they'd returned from Canto Bight. How he'd snapped at her last night, even though she was here beside him trying to find the carbonite with Mandalorians preserved in it. After everything Kita Blairn had done, Paz had not been very grateful. Even the posting he'd assigned her was out of seniority, not because her leadership had been proven. 

Sighing, he gave a nod and joined them at the table, Chewbacca pulling up a holomap, gesturing carefully and speaking slowly enough with pauses that Blairn could translate. "So apparently, there's been a lot of ground activity in the Shadowlands. Way more than usual," Kita began, watching as the map scrolled from the upper echelons on the trees they were in and began to slink down, down, down until it was much too far for natural light to permeate. "Typically, the locals don't go down there. Fauna is too dangerous. Flora is also just as pissy. But the off worlders have been skulking around down there and there's this place called Layman's-" she reached up to the holomap and moved across the landscape. "It's basically a hunting den. Not Guild operated, but running black market bounties. Chewie says he wouldn't mind much if they weren't also trafficking. He's the chieftain here."

"I'm assuming that the chieftain can't walk into Layman's without attracting a lot of attention," Paz deduced, glancing over at the wookiee who gave a grim nod. He'd be recognized immediately. 

"Heading operations is a Dug named Nardu Solture. He's been handing out pucks and requisitions for some of the flora that can rake in some good credits off world. Problem is, it's unregulated, so Kashyyyk isn't actually making anything off of it - be that just a simple tax. Chewie says if anyone knows what's going on with the trafficking, it would be Solture. He'll bring us down to the Shadowlands and drop us off as close as he can to Layman's. Once there, we need to extract the info from Solture."

This could go one of two ways - either the entire den turned on them and it resolved to a fire fight or they handed the Dug over without a fight. Paz expected the prior and knew they'd need to gear up for a fight. Glancing over at the other mando, he felt a bit anxious that she didn't have beskar on. "Very well." There was the possibility that Solture knew about the mando cryo pods too, so this wouldn't be a completely pointless mission.

Standing up, Chewie led them out to his garage, starting up a speeder. He tossed a crossbow into the passenger seat and then gave Kita a hard look before garbling loudly. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she groused moodily.

"What did he say?" Paz asked.

"Nothing important, just that it'll be like old times," she jumped in the back of the speeder and began to check her pistols. "We might be given the time of day to walk in, perhaps seem like we want some pucks, but you'll need to be ready for some hipfire."

"We could always go grab your beskar'gam," he suggested.

Kita threw a dark glare up at him. "Oh yeah?" she retorted haughtily, Chewie stiffening in the driver's seat at her tone of voice. "I don't need it." She wasn't being arrogant and dropped the subject instead of lashing out at him further. 

Getting into the speeder, Paz resigned himself to silence, half expecting that anything he said would earn him a glare and sharp words from the other mando. She continued to keep herself busy, ignoring him, as she went through weapon checks. The landscape changed rapidly with their descent. From the verdant tree tops of the city, vines trailed after then like tangles of ropes, strange arboreal mammals snaking between the vegetation. Light faded after the first kilometer, the stray fronds of sun disappearing along with the warmth. The greenery shifted, hues of blue, yellow, pink, and purple, glowing slightly with luminance. 

"Try not to touch any of the fungi," Kita warned after Chewie spoke up. "A lot of them are harmless, but some have hallucinogenic properties that can take out an adult wookiee. He says there isn't enough time in the day to begin differentiating which those are."

He glanced back out, the wonderland field in front of him or queer colors, dripping nectar, and sticky goos. There was something rather enchanting about the deep underbelly of Kashyyyk, but that was laced with the idea that a lot of dangerous creatures also lived amongst the flora. He spotted a few pairs of eyes in glowing darkness, bright yellow and reflective. 

Eventually, they found the ground, which was a murky shade of violet. Coasting along the darkness, Chewie stopped before they crested a small hill and let out a low growl. "This is as far as he can take us," Blairn revealed, swinging her legs over the side of the speeder and hopping out. "About half a kilometer north of here is Layman's."

Paz dismounted and gave a nod.

"He's going to wait here for us," she caught a comlink that Chewie tossed and slipped it into her jacket pocket, shoving her hands into them after. Compared to the warmth up on the canopies, it was quite a bit cooler down there. He could feel the biting chill, following closely behind Blairn as she began trotting up toward the hill and in the direction of Layman's. 

"Blairn."

She hazarded a small glance from the corner of her eye at him. "Lek?" (Yeah?)

"I'm sorry for what I said last night," he told her. 

"Why?"

Paz's brows furrowed beneath his helmet. "I shouldn't have said it. You don't deserve to be called that."

"That's what you think. I'm not upset that you called me dar'manda. It's true," she shrugged at him, no malice and disdain in her voice. "It's becoming a bit clearer everyday-" she sighed deeply, shoulders relaxing slightly. "I fought as a rebel starfighter. That's also how I know Chewie."

He was taken aback by this, having not expected Blairn to fight in another war after talking about how awful The Purge had been. Then again, she hated the Empire just as much as him, so he should have expected she might take arms up against them. "Why'd you go back to smuggling?"

"Cuz I'm an idiot," Blairn chuckled harshly. 

"Do you want to go back? ... To the New Republic?"

"Dunno. I think I do, but-" she tilted her head, a few stray pieces of bleached hair falling out of her stubby ponytail. "I feel like I owe Mandalore another pass."

"That's not a very dar'manda thing to say," he pointed out. If she still felt as if she had to uphold the Resol'nare, then how could she be dar'manda at the same time? 

"You think there's something in between?" This question made her anxious by the way she was looking at him. "In between being a full warrior and not?"

Layman's was coming into view now, but the question made him pause. "Either you are or you aren't," he decided, despite how wrong it felt to say that. "A warrior that is. You can still be Mandalorian without beskar'gam." This correction brightened Blairn slightly, who gave a sheepish smile. 

"My mom thought that," Blairn revealed quietly. "Satine Kryze did too. Not everyone's fated to wear it." 

He comprehended the depth of her words; the confession. Kita Blairn would not be putting her beskar'gam back on. While that revelation made his heart ache, he nodded solemnly and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. To him, his own armor was always a part of his being, even more once he took the Creed with the Tribe after The Purge. Ten years ago he might've renounced her, but he was getting too old and had seen too much. Estranging a fellow Mandalorian who'd been through the ringer didn't sit well with him; it's why he apologized in the first place. Not all Mandalorians were destined to wear beskar. He would not be his uncle and insist that every since warrior follow the Way if their heart did not agree.

Paz was not an overly prideful man, but he'd apologized more to Kita in the past few months than he had in his entire life. Why? Why did he feel obligated to make up with her? To put effort into their relationship?

"Sounds like the Resol'nare needs an addendum for losers like me," Kita joked, breaking a smile finally. 

"Maybe it does," Paz agreed, not realizing he'd called her a loser until she laughed.

"Alright, let's take care of this and get back to Chewie," she gave him an uncharacteristic slap on the back, hooking her thumbs into her belt before sauntering forward. A line of telltale confidence keeping her spine straight as she peaked to her full height. 

Layman's was just as grimy as most cantinas. Low lighting, filled with smoke and grizzled patrons. A quiet slipped over the bar as Paz entered, eyes sliding over to look at his blue beskar, drinking him in before conversation picked back up, albeit softer than previously. His visor tilted, surveying the customers, picking out those that were bounty hunters. He'd been in the trade long enough to know how to tell them apart from smugglers and other scuppers.

Blairn had left him behind, taking post at the bar, beginning conversation with a Gamorrean. Unlike her, he wasn't able to slip into a crowd inconspicuously, but she glanced back and waved him over. Paz crossed the room and stood beside her, the ogre-like alien staring from under heavily hooded eyes. 

"This is Aragg. He's looking for some extra guns to do a run across the Shadowlands," Blairn told him conversationally. "I wagered that we might be interested."

Paz didn't know where this was going, but took a leap of faith in regards to her judgement. "What's the pay?" he countered, glowering at the troll.

"You comfortable cleaving wookiees?" Aragg asked, glancing down his pig nose. 

"Blue's nearly as tall as one and in full beskar," Kita pointed out. "You really think he can't handle a few walking carpets?"

"I was talking to you, princess. You don't exactly.... have the look of a trained killer. I figure the Mando's worth his salt," Aragg retorted dryly.

Paz wouldn't have been surprised if Kita had shot the impudent alien right there. Instead, she threw out a wolfish smile, tilting her head slightly. "Why don't you worry about yourself, cupcake? Answer Blue's question."

"Pay is negotiable. Come with me," Aragg turned around and sauntered toward the back of the cantina, in the direction of a figure who was sliding a puck across a table to a Qualish bounty hunter with a tactile foot. 

He was the only Dug in the establishment, his tanned skin accented by stripes of slate grey. His facial tendrils quivered with each head movement on his snout, amber eyes listing past the hunter and toward Paz. "Mandalorian-" Nardu Solture entreated, excitement almost palpable which disappointed Paz. If he knew there were mando cryo pods, he certainly would have paled. "What can I do for you?" Nardu was flanked by two Rodian guards, who were fixated solely on him.

"Heard you had a run across the Shadowlands," Paz started, glancing toward Aragg as he took a seat at Nardu's table. Kita followed suit, kicking her feet up as was habit, which drew the Dug's scrupulous stare. Paz sat between her and the Gamorrean, suppressing a soft laugh as she eyed the wide brimmed leather hat that Solture was wearing. 

"We might," Nardu acknowledged, still staring at Kita's boots. 

"Well don't keep us hanging by our bootstraps," she chimed, her alto gravely, causing Paz to shiver ever so slightly. He'd not heard Blairn talk like that before, the richer tone of her voice, humming with an arrogant power. 

Finally, the Dug looked up at her. "Four pods across the Shadowlands to Jostler's Chasm. There's a ship waiting out there to receive them. Speeder will be supplied, you just need to protect the cargo."

"Sounds like a walk in the park... Aside from the threat of wookiees-" Kita commented, sitting up. "These... pods... I presume the wookiees will want them back?"

"Clever girl," Nardu opined, giving a slight nod. 

"Awesome," she put her boots down. "So let's begin the negotiations-" Faster than he could blink, a pistol was up in Blairn's hand and she'd already shot off two bolts, muzzle smoking as the Rodian guards both collapsed on the ground; dead. "How much for the hat?"

The cantina erupted into chaos, Paz smashing his fist into Aragg's face before the alien could wipe away the shocked expression from his countenance. Beneath the beskar knuckles, the being's face crunched. Maybe Paz was a little miffed he'd called Blairn a princess, when the woman was most certainly not that soft or flowery. 

Nardu toppled the table, scattering the sabacc cards and drinks. Kita flew after him, leaving Paz to cover her back as the bar roared to life. Some fled out the door, but many turned to face the troublemakers. He didn't have his heavy blaster on him, drawing his sidearm and shooting the first foe that decided to point a barrel in his direction. A shot pinged off his armor, drawing his eyes over toward a throng of hunters who were attempting to take cover behind the bar.

Rather than remain out in the open, he prowled toward the bar, disengaging enemies almost lazily. They were petrified of the looming blue visage of the Mandalorian, their potshots hitting the beskar'gam before being deflected. Cleaning up the bar took all of ten minutes, a new haze of smoke from the blasterfire. Glancing toward where Blairn had disappeared, he lifted his pistol when he saw the wide brimmed leather hat pop up over the edge of the fallen table. 

Kita stood up, now wearing the hat. "Ugh, forgot how hard these bastards can kick," she rubbed her shoulder before wrenching Nardu after her, dragging the Dug's unconscious and trussed up form. "Let's get him to Chewie warm."

"Let me take point," he instructed, uncertain if those that had slipped outside would be training their sights at the door. 

Blairn gave a jerk of her head, signifying she'd heard him. 

Paz crossed the cantina, dropping his retinue before posting alongside of the door. Opening it, he swayed out slightly to get a good look of the murky dark landscape. He ducked back just as a blaster shot sailed in. His visor lit up, identifying at least twenty targets - considerably more than they'd had to deal with inside of the cantina. "He's got friends waiting."

"Great. What are we looking at?" she asked, dumping the charge on the ground and retrieving her other blaster. Flanking the other side of the doorframe, she blew a piece of hair out of her face. 

"Nearly two dozen, stacking behind speeders for cover," he informed her stoutly. 

"We're pinned here. We can't exchange fire out of this doorway," Blairn pointed out, brows straining as she dropped the brim of her hat. "Although-" she turned her face back up and the nastiest, most wolfish smile he'd ever seen spread across her face. "Tell me what kind of vegetation is out there."

Paz dared another look, barely getting the chance to identify the flora. "A few purple fungi. An especially large pink one-" he said, more shots echoing through the doorway. 

"Think you can cover me?"

"Are you kriffing insane?" he hissed. "You're not in beskar. You can't-"

Rather than wait for him to answer, Blairn ran out of the cantina, forcing him to cover her. Gritting his teeth, he swayed out of his hiding position and grabbed a grenade from his belt, throwing it toward the speeder pulled up on the left. His eyes trailed the woman, whose pistols blazed in her hands as she shot the nearest foes, rounding on the next as she sprinted and slid under one of the speeders. All Mandalorians knew how to fight, regardless if they were pilots or supercommandos. However, he'd not expected this from Blairn, as she usually complained about not being in the cockpit. 

The bulk of the forces were holed up behind three repulsorlift speeders. After taking down those on the right flank, Blairn trained her blasters above them toward a copse of pink fungi attached to the behemoth tree trunk. Shooting the fungi, spores exploded in a shimmering dust, raining down on their foes just as they began to shoot at Blairn. It took all of four seconds before the hunters inhaled the spores and began to sway. Several collapsed whilst others eyes stretched wide, pupils blown - if they had pupils - and some retching. 

Paz lowered his gun and glanced toward the woman who spun her blasters around her fingers before tucking them into their holsters. She drew her comlink out. "Yeah, we've got him. No, no we didn't kill everyone. I know there was a lost of noise... Alright... Yeah. See you in a few," she was answered by a slew of wookiee speak, trotting back over to join him as Paz dragged the Dug out of the cantina. 

"How'd you know that was one of the toxic mushrooms?" he asked, still keeping a hand on his blaster as the tweaking hunters lolled around. 

"I didn't."

Paz stared openly at the woman, but found himself guffawing in spite of himself. "You're insane-" he managed between fits of laughter. 

"Hey, I didn't make it this long in the galaxy without a few gambles," she shrugged, nonplussed, though an impish smirk curved the corner of her mouth. 

Finally managing to get a leash on himself, Paz couldn't help but smile. "For being 'just a pilot' you have a much quicker draw than any mando I've met," he remarked as they waited.

"Afraid that's my only ace," Blairn quipped, rolling her shoulders in a shrug. 

"Only?" he arched a brow beneath his helmet, recalling the impressive figure she cut as she ran and duel wielded the pistols with astonishing accuracy. "You're a better fighter than you give yourself credit for."

"Oh, no, no, no," she clucked, shaking her head. "Maybe in a shootout, but not in the trenches." 

He caught her drift, Blairn was alluding that she'd been in situations like this before and knew how to fight her way out. Had this been an actual assault, by a military, her tactics wouldn't have worked. Still, he wouldn't mind having the gunslinger at his back if she weren't so willing to gamble a win. She might've gotten herself shot if that mushroom hadn't been amongst the nefarious kind. 

Chewbacca's speeder zipped into view, the wookiee sparing a glance over at the still reeling figures by a great tree. He let out a trill and then huffed. "What can I say? Lucky guess?" Kita chuckled, hopping into the vehicle as Paz dragged the Dug and threw him into the boot. 

Chewbacca groused, glanced back at Vizsla, and then spoke again.

"Hey, Chewie's said he can run us down to those coordinates. He already sent a forward scouting party," Kita translated, her brows knitting together. 

"Did they find anything?" 

Kita didn't answer this time, frowning slightly as she listened to the wookiee. "They did find something, but... Ah, kriff Chewie! Why'd you have to go and get them involved?"

The wookiee had started to take them away from the cantina, zooming through the dark Shadowlands with only the lights of the speeder to guide them. No flora grew around these parts. Chewbacca snarked another remark.

"They found the base," Kita revealed grudgingly. "Look alive. New Republic is gonna meet us there."

Paz cursed beneath his breath, so quiet that his modulator didn't pick up on it. He didn't dislike the New Republic. They'd not done anything to really help or hurt Mandalore since their resurrection. However, if there was one thing he didn't want, was the newly installed government snooping around cryo pods that could have Mandalorians in it. He knew that they'd take possession of everything, combing through it before they'd even consider letting the Mandalorians go. Now there would be hoops to jump through.

Waiting at a small shed of a compound were several X-wing starfighters. Blairn's eyes swept toward them and he watched them linger, wondering if she was thinking about her time in the cockpit of one. Wasn't hard to imagine her in the rebel uniform. He almost thought she might look good in it. 

Chewbacca stopped the speeder and several New Republic pilots turned toward them, a loud and very audible groan coming from Kita as she leered at a tall man who wasn't dressed in the orange, white, and blue garb. 

"Today's gonna be a day," she complained, skulking out of the vehicle and following after Chewie. 

"Holy shit," the tall brunette man cursed. "Well look what the wookiee dragged in. How in the Maker's name are you alive, Blairn?" 

"Nice to see you too, Solo," Kita sniffed, crossing her arms and leaning back on her haunches as she narrowed her eyes. 

"What're you doing with a Mando?" Solo asked, looking toward Paz with disdain. "Man, I'm seeing a lot more of you bucketheads these days. Way more than I'd like."

Kita's moodiness vanished. "You've seen more mandos?"

"Yeah, bout a little over a year ago. This one was all silver, didn't paint his armor or anything. Had a little green gremlin with him-" Solo paused, cocking his head. "Actually, have you seen a woman about this tall with blonde hair and blue eyes?" He raised his hand to a short height.

"That's not very specific," Kita drawled. 

"The mando you speak of," Paz interrupted carefully. "Was he flying a ship called the Razor Crest?" It was a stab in the dark, but he decided to try anyway.

"Yeah, I think he was," Solo nodded. "Kriff, I didn't want to but-" he hissed a sigh. "The woman... I left her on Krownest. Don't suppose either of you might've seen her?"

Blonde hair... "Kih."

Blairn's head snapped so quickly he thought she got whiplash from it. "No way..."

"She only recently took her Creed. It's possible-" Paz muttered, watching as Solo arched a brow at them. "The woman you speak of, she has been reunited with that mando. We have not seen her in a couple of months, but she is alive and well..." He hoped that was true. 

"Well damn," Solo said slowly. "I suppose I should've expected it."

"Expected what?" Blairn frowned.

"Huh?" he had been talking to himself. "Oh nothing. Anyways, we've got everything handled here. Place was acting as a drop off point for carbonite bounties."

"Yeah, we know that," Blairn answered hotly. "We're looking for those slabs."

"Aren't any. They're all gone," Solo informed her.

Both of them went quiet. 

"Why?" Solo then looked back to Paz. "Why you with a mando?"

"I am a mando," Kita revealed softly. 

"Wai- What?" the man hissed, unlooping his fingers from his belt. "You don't have the armor or trademark broody disposition, Blairn. You're pulling my leg."

"Wanna bet?" Kita retorted.

"If I do, I'm guessing I'll lose. What proof have you got?"

Turning around, the woman flipped up her jacket and shirt, revealing a tattoo on the small of her back. In dark black ink imbued with beskar was a mythosaur head. Due to having beskar in the ink, it was as bright and fresh looking as the day it had been placed there, just like the shriek-hawk eyes on her hip. 

"I've got a few more, but I'm afraid you're not gonna be graced with looking at those," Blairn retorted glibly, pulling her shirt back down. 

If Paz was reading the man correctly, he'd say that Solo was gobsmacked. "Did... Orion know?"

Kita nodded. 

Solo rubbed his face in disbelief, but recovered rather swiftly. "Well all the pods are gone."

"Do you have any idea where they might've gone? It’s possible there's mandos inside them," Kita implored, having turned back around. 

"Still trying to salvage that information," Solo grimaced, brows pulling together before he drew in a sharp breath. "Actually... There might be something you two can help me with."

"Help you with? We just helped him and now we've got nothing to show for it," Paz frowned, pointing toward Chewie. 

"Well, it's sort of like... you can help me get in contact with someone. That-uh... mando we were talking about before. I need the help of the woman he's with. She's... special."

"Gar mirdir kaysh kar'taylir?" (You think he knows?) Kita asked Paz.

"Elek." (Yes)

"Tell you what Solo," Kita turned back to him. "If you help us out, maybe we can put you in contact with her."

"No maybe," Solo countered. "Either you put me in contact with her after or we've got no deal."

"Depends on if you can help us," Blairn rebuffed.

"What do you need help with?"

"Finding those pods."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've got Solo back! I honestly love that y'all liked his cameo, so I'm thinking he might skulk around the mandos for a bit.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for the ride with Ahsoka!

_"You will find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view."_

* * *

Half the planet was green and half was as dark as the abyss, lanced with scarlet scars as if a titan had raked fiery claws against the landscape. Bringing the Crest down toward the planet, Din wondered what might be waiting for them, disturbed greatly by the appearance of the planet. Ciri had gone below deck to put her armor back on, changing out of the wispy gown that they'd exchanged vows in. He sighed slightly, fussing with his hair for a moment, teetering between a smile and a scowl. On one hand, he had a beautiful, capable wife and on the other, the thing that threatened her and the child most was still out in the galaxy. 

The quiet lull they'd had in hyperspace had been surreal, listening to her vibrant stories about earth and the vikings, of Mandalore, and of her own family heritage. He wondered if she'd ever run out of information to ramble about, partially hoping he'd never see that day. Her face would light up, her voice growing animatedly, as she weaved the stories and tales for him to understand. If she wouldn't get offended, he might fall asleep to the mellow warmth of her soprano listing onward about details.

Coasting them into the atmosphere, he observed the desolate, scorched forests that surrounded the nearest town. He wondered what had happened for the trees and flora to be so blackened, as if a terrible wildfire had eaten away at half of the planet's greenery. After they looked for a tracking beacon, he intended on going into the town to see if they could acquire the proper parts for the Crest. However, he was slightly worried about the costs, considering that the last job they'd done was supposed to fix the ship and hadn't earned them any credits.

Upon landing, he hooked his hand in his helmet, lifting it for the first time since they'd exchanged vows. Glancing into the visor, he found that it did not feel heavy, but it felt... different. There was no guilt in donning it, as they'd followed the Creed and his oaths, but it still felt strange to acknowledge that someone living had seen his face. Sliding it back on, Din opened the door and headed down below into the hull where Ciri was tending the child.

"You sense it too, don't you?" she asked him, cocking the tiny green gremlin against her hip as she insinuated that the Force was also speaking to the kid. 

Grogu garbled, batty ears wagging as he nodded. 

"We'll look into it later, first we need to check the ship," she told him, setting him down on his feet as her Y-shaped visor tilted up toward Din. "Stay close. We don't know what's on this planet yet." 

The kid gobbled his agreement, hovering close to her boot as she strolled toward the gangplank, lowering it with a button on her vambrace.

"Where do you think they'd place a beacon?" she asked, the cool air of outside meeting the both of them. 

Neither could smell the acidic, crisp stench of the soil. But now they could observe the landscape, the trees definitely having been burned. Ciri's helmet tilted, pausing as she stepped off the ship and removed a glove. Palming the soil, she let the dirt slide through her bare fingers before letting out a low sigh. "Do you know what did this?" Din asked, uncertain if she could read the land with her powers.

"It's natural. Wildfires that ravage the planet during dry seasons," she assured him, standing back up and replacing her glove. "Life will return, though it is still sad. So much erased."

"Seems a pleasant place to live otherwise," he retorted dryly, stepping off the Crest to go toward the most obvious spots. "Within the engines. Most of the repairs that took place were to the both of them and the hyperdrive. Given that the left gave way first, we should check there first."

His riduur stared out across the barren trees, spotting a few, large creatures on the horizon near a fringe of mountains. Their silhouettes were tall enough that at this distance it was easy to tell they were taller than most of the trees. Finally, she turned back around and joined him in assessing the problems the Razor Crest had. 

"We should get an astromech," Ciri commented as they slaved up on the engine, awkwardly positioning themselves to try and get inside. "There's a spot on the Crest, isn't there?"

Even if Din's disposition toward droids wasn't as skewed, he wasn't too keen on getting a droid - even if just for repairs. "We can do it ourselves."

"Maybe you can. I have no idea what I'm doing," Ciri snorted, handing over a tool into his open palm. 

"Pay attention then," he turned some of the blades to the side, brows furrowing as he saw a piece of debris inside. Had they sucked some space trash in while flying? Perhaps their initial worries about Imps being in Nevarro City had been misplaced. Reaching in, he pulled it out, his heart dropping into his stomach as he saw the blinking light. "We were being tracked."

"Goddammit," she hissed, watching as he crushed the beacon. "We can't stay here long then, can we?"

"No, but..." he needed parts. The engine was going to continue to stutter unless they replaced some of the coils. "We don't have much of a choice. We can try limping to the next system, but we might have better luck trying the nearby city."

"Maybe whatever the Force is telling Grogu and I will be revealed," Ciri considered, pushing up to her feet and offering him a hand up. They both slipped down from the engine and back to the ground where the child was playing in the dirt beneath them. "Find anything of intrigue?" she prompted the kid with her hands on her hip. "Ah, a rock. Perfect. Let's add it to the collection of memorabilia you acquire from each planet you visit."

"Does he really... have such a collection?" Din asked, dusting his trousers off.

"Yes, he does. He picks the strangest things, mostly trash and rocks, but it makes him happy," Ciri revealed, kneeling down beside him to admire the rough, mud brown stone that he was holding up as if it were the greatest treasure in the galaxy. 

"That makes sense. He was bringing trash back to the ship and I-uh-" he cleared his throat, feeling slightly bad. "-made him throw it out."

"Way to go, buir. I thought there weren't many more items stashed in his trove considering how long I was gone," (father) she snorted, giving Grogu his rock back, the kid holding it close to his chest and throwing a dubious look over at Din. 

"I'm not going to take it away," Din placated, though Grogu clearly didn't believe him. 

"Can I see it?" he turned his gloved palm over, hoping that the boy would be willing to show it to him.

After a moment of silent deliberation, in which the child's ears quivered slightly, as he garbled quietly to himself - he handed over his prize. Din turned it over, the stone slightly sooty from the peeling charred trees and vegetation. Smoothing his thumb over the smooth edge of the stone, he rubbed it enough to reveal amber ripples in its face. 

"You picked a nice one," Din told him, handing the rock back over into his outstretched palm, giving the child an affectionate pat on the head before standing back up. "We should head into the nearby town." He was about to ask if Ciri wanted to come, but already knew the answer. 

"Let me go grab his harness and close the ship," Ciri offered, circling back round to the dock, the tiny green child stumbling after her as she disappeared from view for a moment. The boy tripped, falling with a puff of dirt and dust. 

Din padded over, helping him back to his feet as he warbled slightly. "You're fine," the man assured him gently. "See? Just a bit messy, but it comes right off."

The kid agreed, picking his rock back up as Ciri returned with the satchel strapped over her shoulder, tucking the band beneath the shoulder of her pale cloak. Din picked the child up, handing him over to his riduur - smiling slightly at the thought. Illuminated by the natural sunlight, the warmth of her pale blue beskar glistened like the reflective surface of an ocean, catching slight rippling waves as she moved and the shadows of the trees played into the metal. 

Once Grogu was settled in, she slid the satchel back over her hip, positioning him carefully so that she could tug her thick cloak over him if needed. Still obsessed with his rock, the little monster tucked into his pouch and gibbered quietly like gollum with the ring. Din brushed her shoulder affectionately before pressing his vambrace, locking the ship up before they set off in the direction of Calodan. 

Rising out of the murky, brown horizon was a gated city with only one entrance. The walls were nondescript, earth toned, and high. Standing the ramparts were soldiers, leering down through visors at the approaching strangers. From the terse line of their shoulders and the fingers erring close to the triggerwells of their weapons, Din assumed that they were expecting someone or something. Either way, the rusty town was not welcoming, which startled him since Calodan hadn't ever been flagged as hostile until this point. Typically, Din had a good grasp of where to go and where not to. Even Mos Eisley was considerably higher on his list of 'unsavory' places to go, just because it was on Tatooine. Corvus was a far removed planet, almost backwater. 

He wondered what was going on here.

Ciri's cloak had been drawn, observing the billowing wave of dissent and unwelcomeness that greeted them at the gate. The child was hidden beneath the ice saber's pelt and her hand rested loosely on her holster.

One man, who was not masked, stepped forward with deep set eyes narrowed in intrigue. Despite this interest, there was a feral line to his face and a tight, arrogant set to his shoulders. The pair of Mandalorians were being sized up. "You two bounty hunters with the Guild?" the man called down from his position up on the plinth above the gate entrance.

"Yes, we are associated with the Bounty Hunter's Guild," Din affirmed.

The man nodded, motioning for the gates to be opened. 

"Ibic si'nayc vhisur staabi," (This does not seem right) Ciri commented as the gate screeched open, in desperate need of actual attention, her helmet only tilting slightly as not to seem they were discussing openly about the state of Calodan. 

"Lek," (Yeah) he muttered, brushing close alongside her as they cautiously entered the town. Just as dusty as outside, the state of the gate was just a slight indication of the disrepair within. Ducking their heads, the locals averted their gaze as if they might turn to stone if looking toward the visors of the Mandalorians. Slumped shoulders, nervous hands, fleeing like rats in the street, no one wanted anything to do with them. Their clothing was grimy and well worn, many of which had holes and stains. Even if this was the dry season, the lack of cleanliness indicated severe poverty. Why would such a poor village have a solemn retinue of guards who did not appear half as dingy? 

A smelter droid passed them, whizzing along silently as Ciri paused. Her helmet cocked and she stepped to the side, craning down toward a child that had skinned their knee. "Are you ok?" his riduur asked gently, crouching in front of him, reaching out a palm. "That looks like it hurts-"

The child's dark eyes widened as they sniffled, a man with similar features hurrying over to help the little boy to his feet. "Go, go into the house," the man told the kid before sweeping his eyes over anxiously toward Ciri. "Please. Don't speak to any of us. It'll only cause problems."

Standing, Din could see the affront in his lover's shoulders as the local man turned away and left before she could get a parting word. Returning to his side, slightly dejected by the exchange, they were approached by a set of guards, which by their garb, were clearly mercenaries. Din did not mistake it, wondering what kind of despotic rule had been subjected to Calodan that made all the natives so fearful of even glancing in their direction. 

"Come. The Magistrate would like to see you," a guard addressed.

Din nodded and they followed closely behind the pair. Down the main road of the town, the state was neglected and deplorable. Anxious eyes gazed out between the metal jungle, observing the Mandalorians as they were the only shiny, metal beings in the village that actually had any vibrancy or sheen. He heard a sharp intake of breath before he saw what Ciri had faltered about, visor listing in the direction of a set of steel cages lanced with electric bindings. Trapped in the lightning embrace were various villagers, wincing and moaning as the cages shocked them. 

His temper flared, but he remained quiet, Ciri's visor lingering on the poor souls as they passed the chambers and met a second gate. Another pair of guards waited, gilded in finer attire than the first set, allowing them passage. What laid behind these doors did little to sate his simmering fury. The grime, dirt, and rust did not pass the threshold here. Rather, a sprawling zen garden with healthy trees and a decadent temple-esc building sat protected by the inner walls. A black pond flanked the sides of the stone pathway, reflecting the dull grey of the sky, utterly peaceful aside from the ripples that bobbed due to a soft wind. 

A woman stepped out from the villa, adorned in a long, dark shimmersilk robe, sashed by a maroon doublet and skirt beneath the cloak, fastened with gold. Her brown hair was perfectly manicured and pinned at the nape of her neck, a long tanned face watching them closely as they paused halfway across the bridge and moat. She observed them with emerald eyes, but did not betray her inclinations, her face as smooth as the pond around them. "Are you Mandalorian?" she entreated the two of them.

Din spoke for them, sensing his wife's disdain and palpable rage. She'd told him before that she disliked decadence and after seeing the state of the village versus the luxury the Magistrate lived in - he knew she wouldn't be able to keep her tongue from lashing. "Yes, we are."

The woman glided forward, the hem of her robes barely moving in her grace as she stopped daringly close to the both of them. "I have a proposition for the two of you," the woman entreated. "I have an issue. Our fair village has been plagued by a Jedi. This task should not be difficult for two Mandalorians."

Din blinked a few times, realizing that the tremor in the Force that his clan had felt was the Jedi of which the Magistrate spoke of. "I believe this is a more difficult task than you realize," he said carefully, keenly aware that Ciri would not agree to killing a Jedi. However, if there was one, they needed to find them and have a discussion. 

"The Jedi and Mandalorians have been at odds for many centuries. Now both parties are fleeting, but I expect that your kind has not forgotten the toll that the Jedi have taken not only your people, but your home," the Magistrate plucked cordially.

Ciri bristled, keenly aware of the history the Magistrate was trying to brandish in their faces, but Din spoke up before she could. "Our price is high."

A droid tottered over, passed a staff over to the Magistrate. Both Mandalorians paused as the woman turned it over, before offering it toward them. Ciri picked it up, turning the staff between her fingers before knocking the metal against her vambrace. A resonate, alto note rang out, echoing through the garden. Her helmet tilted up and she gave a small nod; it was pure beskar. 

"It shall be yours in return for killing the Jedi," the Magistrate assured them, accepting the staff as Ciri turned it back over.

"Where can we find the Jedi?" Din inquired.

"Deep in the woods. I shall give you the coordinates," the Magistrate informed them stoutly, speaking softly to the droid before handing over the information they required. 

Outside the villa, the ex-military gunner that they had encountered earlier was ushered forward to lead them back out of the town. By this point, the sunlight was beginning to flee, casting a sharp glare over the edge of the walls of the town, a hazy orange-red glow that pierced the slight smog in the air that came from the wildfires. The man was silent until he brought him to the outer gate, catching a glimpse of Grogu hidden beneath the fold of Ciri's cloak. 

"What is that?" the man couldn't help his curiosity.

Ciri realized she hadn't hid the child. Drawing her cloak, "Uh, good luck charm."

"You two are going to need plenty of luck where you're headed," the man snorted, turning away.

The trio left Calodan, Din savoring the moments of silence before Ciri turned around and flared up. Not particularly at him, but in face of the situation. "What the hell is going on in there?" she asked once they'd cleared the town and were certain they'd not be overheard.

"Can't say for certain, but it looks like occupation by some sort of fringe group," Din speculated, wondering how some 'fringe' Magistrate would come across a beskar spear.

Ciri seemed to think the same. "That staff..." she shook her head. "It's old. Very old. I looked it over, but with my gloves on I couldn't feel its song. But I know it's stolen. That woman reeks of Empire and I expect that staff was amongst the horde of relics stolen from Mandalore by the Empire during its fall."

"You're certain?"

"Not 100%. I'd have to touch it with my bare hand, but just from everything we saw inside and the blatant disregard for life. She seems Imperial," Ciri deduced, disgust erring in the edge of her voice. "And wanting us to kill a Jedi? Why else would a Jedi be here? I mean, perhaps because they feel bad for the villagers, but I think it has to do with that Magistrate."

He nodded slowly, running the encounter through his head again, looking for the details which Ciri was harping upon. He'd dealt with Imps sparingly due to being Mandalorian, except for the one mission that had landed him with his now clan. Ciri had been imprisoned with them for months and had listened and watched them during her involuntary stay. She would know their mannerisms better than him, especially amongst higher ranking officials like Moff Gideon, who had made periodic visits. The woman was well spoken, indicative of being a politician or ambassador. Her poise, the ability to control her emotions, and her knowledge indicated this. But it was the fact she had a beskar spear and was situated out in the middle of nowhere that did make him suspicious. Why would someone like that be on Corvus and why would they have pure beskar?

"We'll look for the Jedi. Maybe we can learn more from them," Din decided, trying to gauge her reaction. 

"I agree. Whatever this Jedi is here for, I think we should help them. Those people don't deserve what they're being subjected to," she let out a low sigh, patting the child's head subconsciously, almost as if she were trying to comfort herself more than him. 

"Will there be any issues? ... Between you and the Jedi, that is."

"I don't see why," Ciri shrugged. "I may not be Jedi, but I'm not Sith. If anything, the Jedi should be more willing to accept our help... Just... Let me do the talking with the Jedi."

Din pulled the coordinates that they had been supplied with. "Looks like we've got a bit of a walk," he admitted, leading the way as he pulled a portable nav system from his bandolier. They passed the Crest on the way deeper into the blackened woad, surprised to find that moss was creeping back along the furthest reaches of the forest. Life was springing back, stars beginning to dot the sky as they approached the shadow of the barren mountains. Despite the return of the green, most other wildlife made itself scarce, Din glancing up when he heard a twig snap.

"Looks like this is where the coordinates lead," Din told his riduur, who was setting the child on a lichen covered stone to let him stretch his legs out. He glanced back in the direction of where he'd heard the disturbance, the night vision on his helmet not picking anything up. 

"Look out!" Ciri shouted before the bright hiss of blades swept down upon him. He threw up his arms, bracing the blow against his vambraces as he was forced back a step. His boots ground in the ashen earth, a cloaked figure bore down on him. Despite the effort being made by the assailant, he realized he was larger than them. Muscles tensing in his legs, he shoved off, forcing the swordsman off of him and engaging his flamethrower. 

The fire licked hungrily, snatching at the edge of their cloak before meeting an invisible barrier - the Force. He tilted his arm forward, not wishing to harm the Jedi, but also not wanting to get himself killed as he aimed his fibercord whips at the figure. The rope spiralled out, but the Jedi leapt up much higher than humanly possible. Ciri was beside him in a moment, bracing the next fall of the sabers with her own beskad. 

"Stop-" she gritted out. "-we're not here for you!" With her free hand she did what she had done to Burg - she shoved the Jedi with the Force. Their opponent paused, standing off across from the female mando, observing the outstretched palm and the feeling of an invisible push moving them. Din had his hand on his blaster, but it was not needed. The dual white blades were sheathed and the figure tilted their head, returning the cylinders to their belt before lowering their hood to reveal a Togruta female.

"You are Jedi?" she inquired, her eyes sweeping over Ciri. 

"No, I am Mandalorian," Ciri returned her beskad. "But I have learned the way of the Jedi amongst other paths. I just do not bear a lightsaber."

"You do have training," the Togruta acknowledged. "Who are you?"

"Cin'ciri Djarin," she introduced, handing her name over to the Jedi much more easily than anyone before. Din shifted slightly, but let her talk. The Jedi was unlikely to listen to him. 

"I am Ahsoka Tano," the Jedi replied cordially. "How did you find me?"

"The Magistrate in Calodan asked that we hunt you. She is unaware that I am Force-sensitive and that we had no intention of actually turning you in," Ciri explained evenly.

"Who trained you?" Ahsoka asked.

Din did not expect her to answer this, but was surprised once again. "I had two masters. Mace Windu and Tarre Vizsla."

Ahsoka stared at Ciri for a long, terribly silent moment. "You are strong in the Force. I... sensed a great disturbance upon your arrival, but I was not expecting to find that surprise bundled in beskar. Who are your companions?"

"My husband, Din, and our adopted son, Grogu-" she introduced, gesturing to each respectively. 

Ahsoka glanced briefly at him, but walked over to the child who was eying her openly. "He is also Force-sensitive," she acknowledged. "You are training him?"

"Yes, I am," Ciri nodded, coming up alongside Tano. "I'm sorry, but you're the first Jedi I've met in the flesh. The others have been Force ghosts."

Ahsoka was smiling at Grogu, running an orange hand over his head. "He is very attached to the both of you. I sense his fear, but-" she cocked her head, lekku tilting as her eyes creased. "-you are teaching him to control it."

"This is the way," Ciri agreed, sending a shiver down Din's spine. "There is no love without fear, but one must know how to balance these emotions in order not to be overwhelmed by them."

"I have heard another speak like this before," Tano said gravely, glancing back toward Ciri. The initial grim expression fell away. "But... you are different from him."

"If it is Anakin Skywalker of whom you speak, yes, we are quite different. I am not Jedi or Sith," Ciri retorted cryptically. 

"You know of him?" 

"Of his fall and of his redemption, yes. You... you were his padawan?" 

A sad smile graced Tano's features. "I was... Please, let us sit down. There is much I think I'd like to discuss with you."

Just as he had observed between Ciri and Leia, the pair of females sat down between a copse of trees, Tano setting a lanturn down as they began a silent discussion using the Force. Din kept the child's attention, but kept glancing back toward them, wondering what they were talking about. Each sat on the ground, knees folded beneath them, palms on their thighs as the conversation commenced. He could only see Tano's facial expressions, her eyes widening a few times, sometimes nodding, sometimes smiling. 

Grogu chased a few moths, trying to catch and eat them. He had to swat one out of the way and pretend he hadn't done it purposely as the kid gave him a shrill reprimand. "I didn't even see it," Din lied to the boy, who went frollicking after a firefly. 

The pair stirred for the first time, drawing his visor in their direction. Tano offered Ciri a hand, pulling her to her feet. "I think I understand better," the Togruta said, her face still creased with a warm smile. "You have had a long journey to be where you are today. I am glad that our paths crossed."

"As am I," Ciri's voice was incredibly warm, just as it had been with Leia. "It's nice to actually meet a Jedi in person and not in my meditations."

"Those meditations were just as real as reality. Few Jedi have ever been graced with such an ability and none of which I ever had the chance to meet," Ahsoka informed her. "You did startle me a bit by saying the name of your masters. You didn't seem anywhere near old enough to have met them before their deaths."

"Well, obviously not Tarre, but Windu? I could be in my 40s for all you know," Ciri scoffed playfully.

Tano arched a brow in amusement. "If you were a padawan during the Order, I would have known. None of them were Mandalorian as far as I know-" she glanced over in Din's direction. "Your wife has told me a lot about you."

"Good things, I hope," Din retorted evenly.

"Good things," Ahsoka assured him with a sly smile. "The youngling... he's the same species as a Jedi Master that I knew. His species is very long lived-" she glanced between the Mandalorians. "-much longer than human lifespans," she approached the next subject very carefully. "And given your lifestyle, I don't expect that you intend on using the Force to live out those years beside him-" her eyes went over to Ciri.

"You are correct. I have no intention of living longer than my natural lifespan," Ciri replied crisply. "Do you know where his species is from?"

"I'm afraid not," Ahsoka sighed. "But... given the child's attachment to the two of you, it would not be wise to deliver him into the care of another. Your training with him to help keep his emotions in check seem to be going well, but... you know of what I will warn you of. Your own personal strife has aided in your ability to rationalize fear, to see through it even in your darkest moments, but the boy..."

Ciri nodded slowly. "I know," she muttered weakly. 

"It might be best to let his abilities fade into nothing," Ahsoka suggested kindly.

"There are few Force-sensitives left in the galaxy. It would be a shame to forsake the gift he has been given," Ciri rebuttaled, though her voice was calm. 

"A shame yes, but the wiser decision?" Ahsoka poised. "It is not my decision to make. He is your padawan. You seem to have remarkably good judgement for someone who walks the path in between - perhaps because of your profession as a healer - but I only warn you because I have seen what manipulation can do to someone with such attachments."

"Thank you for your wisdom, Tano. I do appreciate it," Ciri inclined her head respectfully. 

Despite their disagreement, Din was startled to see how collected the both of them were. He suspected there was more to this than he could see or comprehend, the mutual respect the two had for one another leaning upon their magic abilities. Clearly, this relationship was not the same as that of Leia and Ciri, but more cordial as if they were comrades from varying military factions. "I have lingered for too long," Ahsoka commented, glancing up toward the sky. "I must return to Calodan."

"We will go with you," Ciri volunteered immediately. 

"Why?" Tano asked curiously.

"Because it is the right thing to do," Ciri countered. "Those people do not deserve what is happening to them."

Tano stared before a clean, wide smile spread across her face. "Very well. I think today I shall actually breach the walls if I'm to have two Mandalorians by my side - one of which is also Jedi."

"I am not Jedi," Ciri stiffened slightly at the insinuation.

"Tarre Vizsla may have left the Order to devote himself to being Mandalorian, but he was still a Jedi," Tano informed her stoutly. "And after him, there were many Jedi in the Order who walked the path between, long before my time. Grey Jedi. You may not belong to the Order, but I see it in your heart. You are more Jedi than many Knights I knew during my time in the Order."

Ciri tilted her head slightly and Din wondered what she was thinking. She had always been adamant that she had turned her back on that path when she had chosen him. He expected she was confused, just as he was. But if an actual Jedi was asserting that his wife was more Jedi than she believed... perhaps it was true. Maybe it was possible to be both Jedi and Mandalorian, just as Tarre Vizsla had been. "The mission-" she shifted the subject to put aside her own discomfort.

Din nodded. "There's a small army of guards. We observed this today when they let us past their gates. They are armed with A350 blaster rifles, there are two HK-87 assassin droids, and a hired gunfighter. I believe the gunfighter is ex-military. We might be outmatched." He wasn't as willing to take huge risks with his clan and this seemed worth more than their lives. Even with the mysterious, sword wielding Jedi, he didn't think they'd be able to carve their path past all that firepower.

Both women glanced toward him, but it was Ciri who actually laughed. 

* * *

* * *

Ahsoka Tano was the first Jedi she had met in the flesh and the conversation with her was very unlike what she'd shared with Leia. Unlike the Jedi, Leia had been able to slip by her defenses and smooth over all the details of Ciri's life. It hadn't felt invasive, but more like the two kindred souls were able to understand each other and a willing symbiotic hum between the Force that calmed the both of them. Talking to Tano was more cordial and formal, though Ciri had explained her situation to the Jedi. Able to share memories, to share her story in a condensed amount of time, Ahsoka had also given Ciri bits of information about herself. Ciri gave more information, wishing to explain herself so that Tano did not think them a threat. She was naturally nervous, wondering if the Jedi would view her as some sort of marauder or mistake her for Sith. 

But Tano had shown her what a real Sith was like and those memories were dark and terrible. Ciri was nothing like that. 

It was Tano's words - telling her that she was Jedi - that took her aback. Mace Windu had told her that her back had turned on that path when she decided to step up alongside Tarre. To Ciri, a Jedi was someone who forsook all attachment, but then... Tano told her there had been Grey Jedi before her time in the Republic. Where was the disconnect? Why was Tarre still considered a Jedi even though he left the Order? She didn't know why, but she felt slightly unsettled by the conflicting accounts between her prior master and the living, breathing Jedi in front of her. 

"Do you really think that this Jedi will make that big of a difference?" Din asked her while they were back at the Crest preparing for the fight. The child would be tucked into the ship and remain there for the duration - safely away from the battle.

"Jedi are incredibly powerful. Ahsoka is older than she looks. Her abilities-" she paused, thinking of the movies she had watched and how quick Jedi like Yoda were. Tano seemed to be just as swift. "Jedi can reave entire armies single handed. She could have handled this without us."

"Then why is she accepting our help?" 

"Because it'll be easier for her. Just because she can do it, doesn't mean it wouldn't come without risks of its own," she glanced up at her riduur, observing the tense line of his shoulders before letting out a soft sigh. "I'm not being impulsive. I know they have a lot of firepower. But you should trust Tano more."

"I don't exactly have the same luxury of mind reading as the two of you do," Din grumbled. "And the two of you were disagreeing on things."

"We both come from very different backgrounds. It's only natural that she would harp upon what she was taught amongst the Order. Those Jedi..." she thought back to Mace Windu. "They saw importance in absolute rigidity. Forsake all attachments, follow strict rules, and never err from the Light Side of the Force. People break trying to adhere to those standards. It was a fallen Jedi that brought upon the demise of the Old Republic in the first place. She disagrees with me because that is the foundation she was taught upon."

"And the failure of her Order is not indicative enough that her ways are wrong?" Din pointed out, crossing his arms. 

"They're not all wrong. She only worries for Grogu because he doesn't have the same experiences as me. What she was trying to say was 'what may work for you, does not work for everyone'. And she's not wrong. My own situation is very... unique," she laughed slightly. 

"She called you Jedi."

"I don't know why," Ciri admitted. "I bear no lightsaber and since she's from the Order, I'd expect that that title is only reserved for those like her. Maybe she only said that because I lean toward the Light Side."

She could not begin to fathom why Tano had said that, despite all that they had shared, the woman was still very cryptic. Din might not believe her, but at least he trusted her trust in the Jedi. Checking on the child once more, she tightened the straps on her jetpack before glancing up at Din. "If you think this will turn out well, then I believe you," he said finally, but she knew he was still worried about the heavy machinery they had.

"Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur," (Today is a good day for someone else to die) she assured him in Mandalorian fashion. "The last thing any of them expect are Mandalorians and a Jedi to fight together. We'll use that to our advantage."

He gave a stern nod of agreement. "I will cover you inside the city. Whatever Tano wants to do, she can, but we'll work on freeing those villagers," he expressed, placings his hands on her pauldrons. "If Jedi are as amazing as you claim, then there shouldn't be an issue."

"Yes, the people are our priority," she nodded, glad he thought the same. A smile graced her features beneath the helmet, sighing gently as he reached down for a keldable kiss. Closing her eyes, she savored the brittle calm before the storm. Even if she wasn't too concerned, she still needed to keep her mind sharp in case something happened that they did not expect. Carelessness would only end with one of them getting hurt. 

"Am I interrupting?" Tano stood at the base of the dock. 

They broke away, her own cheeks burning, but she shook her head. "We're ready."

"Good," Tano grinned. "Give me one of your pauldrons; the both of you. I intend to make it seem as if you're dead before rushing them. That'll give you the chance to attack unnoticed."

Neither of them liked handing over the beskar, but they did as Tano said since it was a viable tactic. While Tano led the front assault, they would be able to jetpack in with the cover of the distraction. The dark of night offered a thick cloak of cover, the listing smog from the flames a dense fog that obscured their movements. Circling around to the flank of the town, they watched as Tano approached the gate. Unable to hear what was going on, retinues were lowered to track the illusive Jedi before she sprung up the wall with her dual sabers.

"Can you jump that high?" Din asked, clearly amazed by Tano's prowess.

"I have a jetpack," Ciri pointed out.

"Can you?"

"If I wanted," she admitted.

He didn't harp upon the subject any longer, but gave her a hand signal that indicated that it was time to go. The sound of blasterfire followed the Jedi, blotted out by the sound of their jetpacks hissing. Tano was successful in her diversion, allowing for the pair of Mandalorians to fly in unimpeded. Blasters in hand as they landed. Ciri braced her arm and shot a guard who was moving in to execute one of the trussed prisoners. Din gunned down the other. 

"Get them down," Din ordered, firing off into the distance as she ran forward. From her peripherals she saw the same villager who had brushed them away earlier. He stumbled forward and began helping take down his neighbors. 

The prisoners were incredibly weak and feeble, but the frightened locals were more than willing to whisk them into their homes and shutter up for the duration of the fight. Ciri duly noted that she wanted to check in on them after recovering the last villager before turning to see Din further down the road. The Force thundered around her, just as she felt a sharp pain lance across her shoulder. While she had moved in the nick of time, she hadn't evaded the shot entirely - her beskarless shoulder being grazed by a blaster shot. Her eyes trailed the assailant who ducked into an alley.

Snarling, she ignored the pain in her shoulder and pursued. Senses sharpened, she saw the gunslinger - Lang - who threw an impudent look in her direction. Took her a moment to realize why as her blaster lifted and she shot, not at him, but the assassin droid on the roof that was climbing nearer. She'd run into a trap. 

"You're a medic, aren't you?" Lang presumed, her shot not killing the droid. "Should leave all the fighting to your partner, darling."

"I'm more than you can handle," Ciri assured him hotly. 

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," he taunted, glancing at her shoulder, but his brows furrowed. 

"Surprised?" she chuckled, raising her free hand to grab the droid with the Force. She jerked it down from the roof in a crumpled heap in front of her and shot it, showering sparks as the head was blown off. "It's going to take a lot more than a little graze to put me out of commission." It still stung like a bastard, but it wasn't actively bleeding, the Force taking away the immediate threat of danger as it had done before with her hunts. 

"A Mandalorian Jedi," Lang realized, his face dropping as he glanced toward the nearest escape path. "You hear of something new everyday-" he turned to run, but was blocked by another, imposing suit of beskar. 

"Did you call my wife 'darling'?" Din's voice was dark and heavy as he faced the mercenary. 

"Y-your wife?" he threw his hands up, more willing to throw his lot in than be killed. 

"He did manage to get a shot on me," she gestured to her shoulder, wondering what Din would do. She wasn't entirely surprised when he punched Lang in the face, sending the man crumpling to his knees with a broken and bloody nose. Ciri removed a pair of cuffs from her belt and tossed them over before Din secured the man's hands behind his back. Dragging him back out to the main road, Ciri glanced around at the carnage, hearing silence even from behind the second pair of gates that Tano had disappeared over. 

"How's your shoulder?" Din asked, coming over to take a look at the wound. 

She sucked her teeth at his insistent touch. "I healed most of it, but it's still a bit raw. I'll use some bacta on it later," she assured him. "You're not hurt at all, are you?"

"No, I'm fine," he said, pausing under her scrupulous head tilt. "Not even a scratch."

"That makes one of us," she said lightly, glancing back toward the wreckage, noticing that people were beginning to pop their heads out from doors now that the noises had died down. "I want to check on the villagers that were imprisoned. They looked like they were in rough shape."

"Take care of yourself first," Din griped, still glancing down at her shoulder.

"I will, I will," she wriggled her arm away. 

"Sit down," he groused, forcing her over to a stoop. "Give me some of the bacta-" 

Ciri frowned, but removed a small bandage from her pack, handing it over to him as he peeled back the fabric to inspect the trauma. She supposed it was a good opportunity for him to try the new setting on his helmet, but wasn't keen on the roles being reversed for once. Applying the salve, he pressed the bandage over the remaining scratch which was deep enough that she winced at his palm pressing into it. "It could have waited," she told him.

"Last time I said that you nearly bit my head off," Din muttered. "The standards apply to you too. You need to take care of yourself, cyare."

"Last time you had 3rd degree burns. That's a little different than a scratch," Ciri pointed out, but let out a wistful sigh, appreciative of his attentiveness. Her eyes listed, finding the villager that had helped pull down the prisoners. Standing up abruptly, she approached him. "How is everyone faring? I'd like to take a look, if that's alright."

The man didn't brush her off this time. "They're in a bit of pain and exhausted, but other than that they should recover fully," he replied. "My name is Wing. Thank you... so much for everything you've done." There was a soft earnesty on his face, dark eyes twinkling, gazing intently at her. She knew he was very thankful, not only able to read it on his face, but in his demeanor. The reaction warmed her, assuring her that they had done the right thing, and a small scar was just a minor price.

"Of course," Ciri inclined. "But you'll let me check on them?"

Wing nodded. "You are a medic?"

"Yes." Wing brought her to each of the prisoners, some of which were incredibly emaciated from the length of time spent in their cells. For the most part, they'd make a full recovery physically, but Ciri wondered what that might do to them mentally. They'd done nothing wrong, just like her when she was abducted. One of the prisoners was worse off, having been strung up the longest. 

Electrical burns charred the skin, scabbed over and raw. The man was middle aged and his heart was weak from the strain put on him in tandem with the lack of food or water. Whilst he'd recover slowly, she wasn't too certain about his heart. Pressing her palm to the man's chest, she knew that bacta could only do so much. The miracle medicine was good at healing, but not correcting things like weak valves, muscles, or bone deformations. If it was, the required potency was much higher than anything she could carry or afford. Doing this, healing an organ, required a lot more strength than lacerations or repairing veins and arteries. Even head traumas, depending on whether it was a bruise or concussion versus actual brain matter missing ranked in how much energy she would lose.

But she couldn't leave the man to die of a weak heart within the foreseeable future. Focusing her attention, her hands glowed with a pale, misty green ambiance. The work did not take long, the strengthening of the tissue around his heart, the valves, and increasing overall blood flow. Upon completion, she blinked away the darkness impeding her vision, grasping a nearby chair inside the house she stood in before sitting down. Refusing to display her weakness, she pressed her palms on her thighs, locking her elbows, thankful for the helmet in that moment as she felt especially faint and clammy.

A robed figure stood nearby, tilting her head. It was the first time Ciri had seen Ahsoka since the end of the battle. Din had gone back to the ship to check on Grogu and bring him back to town so they could acquire the parts they needed for the Crest. "You didn't have to do that. He would have recovered and lived the rest of the life his body could support," Tano remarked.

"I could. So why wouldn't I?" Ciri retorted, gripping the outside of her beskar leg guards. 

The female alien laughed. She had the most interesting coloring that Ciri had seen. There was something incredibly beautiful about her orange skin, contrasted by her head tails that were blue and white striped. 

"Why did you call me a Jedi?" Ciri implored, unable to swallow her curiosity. 

"Why do you call me one?" Tano countered.

"You are one."

"I was ejected from the Order, labeled a traitor. I am less of a Jedi than you," Tano revealed.

"Why were you ejected?"

"That's a long story for another time, but shortly, I was framed," she let out a low sigh. "To answer your question... you have a selfless heart. You help those in need without promise of payment. These were pinnacle traits that Jedi tried to emulate - to put the needs of others before themself."

"I'm not selfless," Ciri argued. "I have a husband. I want a family. Now I have Mandalore too and my people. I was too selfish to forsake these attachments."

"They do not make you a bad person. If I have learned anything, it is that dark hearts dwell in even the most sacred places. Whether this leads to falling to the Dark Side or remaining on the Light Side as a weapon of vengeance and 'justice', it is difficult to say," Tano speculated softly. "But I know that those who walk the Grey are oftentimes more resolute in their foundations than those who err only to one side."

"Do you walk between?" Ciri asked.

"I do, but not in the same manner as yourself. There are many shades of Grey," Ahsoka nodded, standing up and trotting over to her. She held a hand out. "You deserve this. What your prior master told you - that you turned your back on this path - he was a spirit of vengeance. I often wonder if he might have turned Dark eventually, considering his preferred method of Vaapad and how dangerous it is... but you remind me of someone I knew. It's a shame you never got to meet him."

"Who do I remind you of?" Ciri lifted a palm and accepted the gift from Tano. 

The woman paused slightly, a soft smile turning up her lips as she let the tiny item fall from her palm. "The master of my master."

Ciri glanced at the item, finding a small crystal about the size of a bean in her glove. Turning it over, her brows furrowed as she inspected it. Master of her master? "Kenobi?" she recalled from the films. "I... if this is what I think it is, I cannot accept it."

"You can," Ahsoka brought her hands up, curling them around her hand, closing Ciri's fist around the crystal. "I've held onto it for many parsecs, waiting for the right person to give it to. There is a great disturbance in the galaxy. You will need this."

Confusion swept over her, glancing back up at the Togruta. "You're not just talking about the Empire," she realized, a chill slicing down her spine and chasing away some of the clamminess. "But... How? I would have felt it."

"The same manner that has prevented me from finding my own charge. Ysalamiri," Ahsoka answered pensively. 

"Ysala-what?"

"They are lizards that can repel the Force. Typically, they are impossible to extract from the trees they live on, but our enemies found a way to do so. They are out there and the galaxy will need every Jedi it can muster - regardless of what path or shade of Grey they are," Ahsoka explained, finally releasing Ciri's fist. "You fight for Mandalore, so does an acquaintance of mine. Our paths are different, but we fight for a similar cause. Go to Trask. There you will find Bo-Katan Kryze."

Ciri drew her hand back and tilted her head. "I have not heard of this Mandalorian." And she had known the dozen back on Concord Dawn. If this Bo-Katan was really fighting for Mandalore, why wouldn't they have joined their ranks?

"Bo-Katan is a good person, though slightly misguided. Perhaps you can help in her path of redemption and to become Mand'alor."

"To become-" she nearly cursed, wondering if it were pure coincidence that she crossed not only a Jedi, but one who knew Mandalorians. "I shall have to judge her myself."

"Take care when you do so. Your voice as a conduit for the spirits of Manda weighs heavier than you believe. Your people will look to you when it comes for a recommendation for Mand'alor."

Ciri shuffled uncomfortably. "But why?" her voice was slightly weak. "I have only been amongst them for a little over a year."

"You are Tarre Vizsla's chosen. You are jetii. Who better to place the darksaber in the hand of the Mand'alor than the apprentice of the one who forged it?" Ahsoka inquired, pressing upon her the importance of her posting. "I know you do not desire that power, which is how I know you deserve that-" she glanced toward Ciri's clenched fist. 

Drawing her hand to her chest, a trembling breath parted her lips. Since Mace Windu had turned his back on her, she had assumed that everything was black and white, cut and dry; that Tarre's path was not that of a Jedi. Was it possible that Windu didn't know everything? That she had been fooled by the mysteriousness of a man fueled by vengeance? "I need to meditate on this," she decided, looking up as Ahsoka gave an approving nod.

"We shall meet again, Cin'ciri Djarin. Take care of your family, though-" she smiled slightly, glancing toward the doorway as Din entered with Grogu. "-I think it is they, who shall be taking care of you."

"Thank you, Ahsoka Tano," she pushed up to her feet, forgetting that she'd used a severe amount of energy to heal the prisoner. Staggering, she caught her hand on the nearby wall, her riduur rushing across the room to help her stand, but when she glanced back up the Jedi was gone. 

"What happened?" Din asked, his voice worried as it translated through his modulator. 

"I..." she opened her palm and looked at the crystal. "Learned something new." 

"What is that?" he stared down at the crystal.

"A kyber crystal," Ciri informed him, finally finding her legs. "Sorry, I healed one of the men and it sapped a lot of my energy. Did you end up finding the parts that we needed?"

"Yes," he still held onto her, dubious that she'd be able to walk on her own. "Tano gave me the beskar spear. We should return it to Ka'ra."

"Best to put it to use now. Until it can find a home amongst the relics in Ka'ra," Ciri speculated, leaning her husband as they left the house she'd healed the villagers in. 

"Why did Tano give that to you?" They gave a few nods in the direction of the celebrating towns people who were blissful in their freedom from occupation. A smile curved Ciri's lips up, her heart soaring like an eagle above a great expanse. This had been worth it. Despite the worry she now felt from Tano's warning, she was pleased with their work. 

"I'm still not certain why. When we get back to the Crest, I need to meditate on it," she admitted honestly, still conflicted on Ahsoka's decision to give her the crystal. She needed to talk to Tarre about it and see if he thought that she should use it. Tarre had rarely mentioned the Jedi except from when she had asked about it. 

The Crest was waiting where they had left her. They had lingered on Covus longer than they should have after discovering the tracking beacon. But until the repairs were completed, they wouldn't be leaving. A gentle sigh pressed her lips. Able to walk on her own now she went to help Din with the repairs. 

"Go meditate," he told her. "I can handle the repairs on my own. You don't know what you're doing anyways."

"I should still help," Ciri argued lightly. 

"The meaning of the crystal is bothering you," he gleaned, brushing the crook of his finger underneath her helmet. "You'll just get in the way."

She scoffed at him, but was smiling beneath her helmet. "Fine, that's the last time I offer to help with repairs."

"Thank the Maker," Din drawled sarcastically. "Make it up to me later."

"Make it up to you?" Ciri parroted, openly ogling her riduur at the suggestion. "Maybe-" she waved him off, only able to go a few steps before her grabbed her, pushing her up against the side of the Crest. Her skin prickled, his fingers hooking beneath the padding below her chestplate, digging into her hips. "Din! He's right there-" she grit through her teeth, slightly embarrassed that the child was puttering around nearby, now staring at them. 

"I'm not going to do anything... Right now," Din assured her, running his finger along the replaced pauldron, but the same arm that had been injured earlier. His hips pressed against her, she struggled to breathe evenly as heat billowed up from her chest. "Ni jetii." (My Jedi)

Ciri growled slightly, pushing him off of her. He wasn't resistant, letting her brushed by, throwing one more miffed glare at him before stomping onto the Crest. Taking her helmet off, she plopped down moodily on a sitting pillow in front of the low table, taking a moment to grumble. Being put in the mood right before she had to go into her meditation wasn't exactly what she had wanted, especially since it was a distraction from the questions she had. Swallowing hard, she attempted to slide past the rising desire and calm herself. Part of her was still irked that Din had called her a Jedi. That was probably his intention as she struggled to find her center. 

After a few terse moments of puffing, Ciri eventually managed to get her lust under control enough that she felt comfortable with meditating. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, she closed her eyes and slipped away from the silver, durasteel interior of the Razor Crest. Blinking, she gazed out not into the familiar glint of the ship that had become her home, but a verdant field where the wind chimed through the tall fronds of grass.

Standing, she glanced around the field, then up at the sky toward the shriek-hawks that patrolled the blue expanse. When she looked back down, a dark blue cloak rippled in the breeze. Trailing after her mentor, she came up alongside him, wondering if he knew what she was going to ask. 

"You met a Jedi," Tarre commented, surprising her by speaking Basic instead of Mando'a.

She nodded slowly. "Ahsoka Tano."

"Was it what you imagined?"

Her brows furrowed at this question. "What do you mean?" she inquired.

"Do you feel any different after meeting Ahsoka Tano?"

"I feel... confused. But not because I met her. It's what she said," Ciri admitted. "She gave me a kyber crystal."

"Then you will forge your lightsaber," Tarre stated simply.

"Will I? The lightsaber is a weapon of the Jedi. I walked away from that path to become Mandalorian," Ciri reminded him, her eyes tracing the lines of the mountains on the horizon.

"A lightsaber is but a tool."

"A tool used only by Jedi," she countered.

"Why are you not Jedi?"

Ciri considered this, having no answer other than what Windu had told her. "I was not taught by the Order. I was not appointed the title. I am just a Force-sensitive Mandalorian."

"And yet today, you brought peace to a village that owed you nothing. You decided to do this, despite being promised no reward. You saw the fear, the sorrow, and the Darkness and purged it. Tell me, do these words not sound like yourself?

" _Jedi are the guardians of peace in the galaxy._

_Jedi use their powers to defend and to protect._

_Jedi respect all life, in any form._

_Jedi serve others rather than ruling over them, for the good of the galaxy._

_Jedi seek to improve themselves through knowledge and training._ "

Ciri remained silent for a long minute, letting the wind catch her ponytail. "But... what Windu said-"

"Windu followed a different text. Though they have changed throughout the centuries. The one I have spoken to you, is the most recent, modified by Jedi Master Luke Skywalker. He does not forsake attachments. He never belonged to the Order, but was trained by other Jedi. If you were to reach out to him, undoubtedly you would get an answer, and he would accept you amongst his ranks. But your own destiny is beside your clan and your people. As Tano said, there are many shades of Grey, and many paths we can choose to walk. She gave you the kyber crystal because you will need it for the storm coming and because you do not wish to wield my own saber."

Ciri tried to wrap her head around it and the error in Windu's training. "Did he lie to me?"

"Is it a lie if you believe you are speaking the truth?" Tarre countered. "Windu dealt in absolutes, which is why - to him - no Jedi can be Grey. But know, multiple padawans of Windu also succumbed to the Dark Side. He was not infallible."

Ciri nodded slowly, perhaps comprehending that nothing was quite black and white. She opened her palm, staring at the crystal that was also in her meditation scape. "Would that have happened to me if I chose his path?"

"You were already in love with Din Djarin by that point," Tarre acknowledged. "I cannot feign to know what _may_ have happened, for it never came to fruition. But tell me, did his training ever resonate with your heart? He wished for you to be modeled in his own reflection, not based on where your personal strengths laid. Do you think you could have been a 'sword of justice'?"

Lifting the crystal up toward the sky, the blue lanced through the stone and illuminated it. "No," Ciri admitted solemnly. "I know I can have a temper at times, but the rage that Windu wanted me to channel was not something I typically had. I don't see a purpose in holding onto grudges. Nor do I know the Republic he was so keen on pushing me toward. But I still don't think because of our differences that he was a bad person."

"I never implied this," Tarre remarked lightly. "Only that his method of teaching left much to be desired. Mace Windu was an impressive Jedi Master who did everything in his power to maintain peace. Perhaps too much. But we are describing a person who is not here to defend themselves and we are evading the subject that you came here to talk to me about."

Ciri flinched, aware that she was straying further from the topic of the lightsaber to question Windu's methodology. It was true, she had left his path behind. "I am afraid of what the lightsaber implies. What it implies of me if I craft it."

"It is a tool," Tarre repeated. "Just like your hammer in Ka'ra. Each serves a purpose. Are weapons and armor not your religion now?"

"They are," she confirmed.

"Then a lightsaber is nothing but another item in your arsenal. You know how to use it. You have a crystal to forge one. You do yourself no favors by limiting your prowess. Retire the beskad and equip the saber."

"And then what?" she questioned anxiously.

"Continue as you were. Do not force yourself to walk an unnatural path."

Ciri released a long breath, turning the crystal in the air, catching the glow of a cloud heated by the warmth of the sun. It cast a low grey hue through the translucent stone, causing her to tilt her head. Shades of Grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI everyone, I apologize for the bit of a hiatus, but I burned myself out real fast with the everyday posts. I apologize I went a bit quiet, but I hope to begin publishing semi-regularly. Not at the intense speed I was at before, but enough that you'll be able to keep up with out characters. Thanks so much for the amazing support!


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